


The Mortal, The Jotun and the Wardrobe

by scarecrowslady



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Narnia-esque, The Author Regrets Nothing, maybe I'll add slashy stuff later, mildly humorous, set in MCU-verse, slash if you squint... maybe?, there is travel via wardrobes and closets, this isn't crack, why am I writing this?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarecrowslady/pseuds/scarecrowslady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Hiddleston can't sleep one night - and finds a door in his wardrobe to another world. And it isn't Narnia. Crossover with Avengers MCU-verse. H/C</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wardrobe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction! I do not know Tom Hiddleston, and I do not profit from these writings. I do not own Avengers, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The Mortal, the Jotunn and the Wardrobe

Chapter 1  
The Wardrobe

_**The first time... When was the first time – sometime after Cannes...** _

Tom Hiddleston, big-time rising star and the fan-favourite of thousands of fangirls, was finally back home in London. It had been a wonderful weekend in France – sunny and windy a perfect blend of heat and cool. His blue suit had been a hit (if the rumours about the Tumblr flood of photographs was to be believed) and _Only Lovers Left Alive_ had been accepted rather well. Perhaps not the mover and shaker of Cannes, but neither did it bore or annoy the audience like a few others had. On top of that, his own performance had apparently left an impression on several of the reviewers – which, considering who he was acting besides, was a great compliment. A perfect day.

 _Almost a perfect day_ , he sighed and turned again, tucking a long, thin arm under his head. _Except for that one girl._ The memory rose up suddenly – her rapid approach and the force of her weight which had nearly knocked him off his feet. Tom hadn't wanted to hit her – but it took everything within him not to throw her back too roughly. Then, the police had come up – and the girl had been pulled away and Luke had been there, turning Tom away and putting himself between Tom and the rest of the fans protectively and Tom had let himself be let away and inside – inside – 

The blonde actor groaned and turned onto his back, glaring up into the darkness of his room, the unseen ceiling. 

_Just stop it, Tom. Worse things happened to other celebrities – and really, it was only a matter of time before some crazy came out of the woodwork... but what could I do? In the end, I didn't get to talk to the other fans..._ Tom glared upwards in the dark. _If it happens next time... what do I do?_

His mind would not shut down. With an annoyed huff, the actor rose, went to the washroom, relieved himself and then, after flushing the toilet and washing his hands, he meandered back into his room. In the dark, the white gleam of his iPod caught his eye and snagging it, he felt about for his earphones. No sign of them. Tom frowned.

 _Oh wait..._ he thought. _You might have stashed them in the front of your baggage._

It wasn't there. 

_Or maybe... in the trousers you wore going back..._ Turning on his bedside lamp, Tom looked about his room. No sign of the earphones. His trouser's pockets then. Opening his wardrobe, Tom peered in and then paused as a coolness wafted out. It was like his wardrobe had air conditioning!

 _Impossible_ , he thought. And leaned in further. No doubt about it. His wardrobe was colder than the warmth of his flat. _This is crazy..._ Pushing aside several of his pants, Tom rifled through the pockets of the pants – and was just fingering the familiar plastic of his earphones when a whistling wind roared past. 

From inside his wardrobe. 

Tom blinked. Blinked again. Frowned. Then, an idea – a memory – a fond memory of a book series rose up in his mind. 

“You are an absolutely nutter, Tom,” he mumbled to himself as he leaned forward to double-check there was a back to his wardrobe. “This is what happens when you stay up all night and think about silly things and end up as hysterical as –“

His fingers met air.

“No,” he whispered to himself. “No no no no nononono.”

Leaning his head on the edge of the wardrobe door, Tom shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut and contemplated the end of his sane existence. This was it. This was the slippery slope of madness. This was how it was to end for Tom Hiddleston. He pinched himself. Double-checked the back. He was awake. Not dreaming. And there was no back to his wardrobe. 

_My wardrobe has opened to Narnia_ , he giggled internally still too shocked to admit it aloud. _Or maybe not. Maybe if I shut it for ten minutes... it will... go away. And..._

He shut the door for ten minutes. Made himself some tea. Went back. Opened the doors. Nope. Narnia was still there. 

_Hmmm..._ he considered the matter as he savoured his rapidly diminishing amount of tea. _Maybe I should call someone. Mother or Emily or Chris or..._

 _And what do you think they'd say?_ He asked himself. _Seriously, what would be their response?_

 _You haven't had enough sleep is what they'd say. And maybe make a joke about keeping away from the bottle or something. Mother might think you were degenerating into some kind of drug-addicted personality..._ Tom sighed. _This is great. Just great. Maybe I should just go lie down and pretend this isn't happening to me._

But Narnia wasn't going away – and Tom would be lying to himself if he didn't own to a little curiosity. _Just say it_ , he told himself. _You've got a door to Narnia – and you_ _think_ _you can just go back to bed and sleep?_

“I've got Narnia in my wardrobe,” Tom obediently told himself aloud. “And you're – I'm right. There's no way in hell I'm going to pass this chance up.”

With that, he grabbed a thick jacket, put on his shoes, took out a torch (and double-checked the batteries), a backpack with some food and stepped into his wardrobe, leaving the door open a crack (because that's what smart people do as C.S. Lewis had said before) and the bedside lamp on.


	2. The Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda nutty... but I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

The Mortal, the Jotunn and the Wardrobe

 Chapter 2  
The Encounter

It was ungodly cold. _Ungodly. Cold. Was it always this cold?_ Tom wondered, shivering. _Definitely colder than I expected...._ He paused, frowning, as he contemplated the dark underbrush around him and the trees towering above him. Turning Tom looked back. From a short distance, he could see his clothing and the sliver of dim gold – the only hint of his home – well hidden by an alcove in the crumbling bits at a rocky outface. _A cliff?_ The tall man looked up. It was too dark to see – and the trees seemed like they were going on forever. _Were trees always this tall in Narnia? The trees looked normal in the movies though... Next time, I'll ask Tilda. If there is a next time. If you survive your own stupidity, Tom._

Carefully, the blonde pressed a too pale hand against the dark wood. It felt like stone – hard and scaly, very frozen over. The branches started a good three meters over his head – sticking upward at odd angles into the gloom. No sign of starlight.

Tom looked about, his torchlight landing on what looked like an iced-over creek – if water usually ran black. Following it down, keeping an eye out for animals, would-be attackers (any signs of life) – and useful landmarks, Tom found himself after a half hour of labour, to be at the edge of a forest which clung to the edges of a massive cliff face. There too – above he supposed - were even more of the strange black trees.

It was so still. _Like a Beckett play – although not as funny. Still_ , Tom huffed at a breath of cloud of hot air into the night. _It does get to you... Narnia... I thought it wasn't winter there anymore –_ Tom scratched his head nervously as he considered the mystery. _Actually, didn't Narnia get reborn into heaven or something? Where the hell am I really?_

When he raised his eyes to the starry sky above, partially obscured by great scudding clouds, blue eyes widened at the sight of the moons – some of them massive – hanging with a dim glow above the vastness of snow and ice.

“This isn't Narnia,” he murmured aloud.  
“Indeed, it is not,” a voice behind him spoke out suddenly. Soft. Dangerous. “Do not move, mortal.”

Tom froze at the quiet command and allowed the unseen hands to run down his sides swiftly. 

“You are not armed,” the voice said, a faint note of surprise and derision. “You are more foolish than I supposed.”

_Yeah, Tom_ , he grimaced as cold breath fanned over his neck. _What were you thinking? Seriously? What would you do if you met the White Witch? Do you even know?_ A beat. _What were those kids in that series thinking? They could have been killed!_

“Turn.”  
“Listen –“ Tom attempted to pacify his ambusher before things got ugly.   
“Silence.” 

A definite hiss now.

Tom shut up obediently and shuffled about, hitching his backpack a bit more securely, glad he'd chosen his dark wool coat instead of his leather jacket – and then blinked – jaw going slack at the familiar-not familiar face before him.

“No way –“  
“Silence!”  
“No... this is...” Tom craned his head about now, the puzzle pieces clicking into place – everything now making sense. He tried to say something – and winced at the initial squeak that emerged – and managed to change it to a bit more like a shriek of joy. “This is... Jotunheim! And you're – you're –“

He paused as the reality of his situation set in. Long hands ran down his face and tented in front of his mouth, attempting to trap his excitement. Before him was his possible salvation – or possible death. Before him was the first and last person he wanted to find on the cold Realm: _Loki. Loki Odinsson. Loki of Asgard_. Tall, pale-skinned, dark-haired and tired-looking. Also a bit annoyed. _Loki_. Thin and slightly gaunt but not lacking for power and the will to survive, judging by the green eyes which now studied him with open curiosity. Fiery green. _Loki_. Bursting with magic. And more or less in his right mind. Tom hoped. _Loki_. Clad in his usual dark leathers and a spear and nothing else.

Not that he needs much to cause mayhem, Tom bit his lip, in a vain attempt to restrain himself and his glee.Loki's hand darted forward – and he jerked Tom nearly off his feet as the god pulled Tom forward by his backpack straps. The blonde man winced as he found himself nose to nose with the irate immortal.

_Yes. Not pleased. At all._

“Who are you? Speak quickly.”  
“Tom. Tom Hiddleston.”  
“Your name... is... Tom?” Definite scorn now.  
“Well, uh, it's more like, um, Thomas. Thomas William Hiddleston. I'm from Earth – or, I guess you call it Midgard.“  
“A brainless, so-called hero from the mortals, then,” Loki snorted with disgust, finally releasing Tom's backpack straps like they were dirty.  
“No, not really. Sorry.” Tom chuckled nervously. “Just an accidental sightseer...”

At Tom's pronouncement, Loki stared at him as if he had spouted two heads. At a loss for words. Apparently. Green eyes darted to the left. Obviously the immortal's mind was going a mile a minute. Finally, Loki's green eyes flicked upward and pinned Tom with a hard stare.

“So you entered this land with no abilities to save yourself – how could you have come then?”  
“Uh – ah, well, ehehehehe...” Tom scratched his head and then neck. “There was my wardrobe, you know, it suddenly got a door to... um, here. So, I walked through it –“ He flapped a hand toward the forest. “Followed the stream and came here...” Pause. “You?”

Loki's eyes, if possible got wider and rounder at Tom's less than eloquent explanation. 

“You came through a door to this world?”  
“Yes.”  
“Through your wardrobe?”  
“Yes.”  
“Without thought or preparation, puny mortal though you be.”  
“Yeee-es,” Tom gave Loki a disarming, if a tad bit uneasy grin.  
“Madness,” Loki muttered. “Sheer. Utter. Madness.”  
“Well,” Tom said, trying to look harmless and comforting. “More to the point, what are you doing here?”  
“Do you know who I am? Who you so casually address? Who you –“  
“Uh... Loki of Asgard, right?”  
“So the Man of Fury sent you after all.”  
“No nononono,” Tom hastened to explain as Loki snarled and stepped forward threateningly. “I'm – wait – Nick Fury is REAL?”  
“Of course, he is. Unfortunately – and remains a thorn in my side.”  
“He isn't in my world.”  
“You do not come from Midgard? That puny race of mortals who vaunt themselves as –“  
“Yes, I mean, no. Kind of. Maybe?”

Tom found himself nose to nose with Loki again, strong hands clutching his neck under his loosely tied blue scarf. Trying to keep his grin from slipping, Tom tried to pull away. And failed. Epically. Loki's ever strong wrists and arms would not budge. They were as immovable as the boulders which lined the far cliffs. Tom decided to give up and save what shreds of dignity he had left – before he died.

“You speak nonsense, foolish man and –“  
“Tom.”

The hands clenched tighter and Tom choked a little as familiar long, slender fingers surrounded his neck and squeezed. “Or – or – Thomas. Thomas is good.”  
“Thomas. Choose your words wisely lest they be your last.”  
“O-OK. Uh, well, I think,” Tom's mind raced through the possibilities. 

_Think, man, think!_

“I think I come from another version of Midgard,” he said carefully. The fingers eased a little. “Yes. So, in my world, none of it happened. It's not... um, real. Just a story. That is how I know your name.”  
“I see.” Loki released Tom. “That would explain... much. Your looks, among other things.”  
“My – oh yes,” Tom looked down at his black jeans, black wool coat and cheery blue scarf dangling down. “Yes, I suppose.”  
“No, fool. I speak of your face.”  
“Oh! Right! Right!” Tom paused and chuckled nervously. “We do look rather alike, don't we?”  
“You have a talent for understatement,” Loki snorted. “Well, now, that all things are explained as far as possible,” Loki shifted from foot to foot and Tom blinked at the obvious nervousness of what he thought was the usually unflappable god of chaos. “Now is a good time for you to leave.“ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyahahaha! A minor cliffie. Not really. Maybe.  
> OK.   
> Ahem.  
> Update coming soonish.


	3. The Command

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is a shit. (sigh)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Loki being a meanie.
> 
> Not much else... but if you like this story - be sure to check out my other Loki fics~  
> Or my tumblrs...  
> dappled-thing  
> hiddlesayings  
> kakashidiot

The Mortal, the Jotunn and the Wardrobe

 Chapter 3  
The Command

 

“Well, now, that all things are explained as far as possible,” Loki shifted from foot to foot and Tom blinked at the obvious nervousness of the usually unflappable god of chaos. “Now is a good time for you to leave –“ He turned to eye the forest behind them.

Tom's blue-eyed stare followed Loki's. To the ginormous, sky-scraping trees (really hard not to lay on the adjectives for tall) and equally sublime cliff face (not that any cliff in Jotunheim could really be called sublime). “Return to whatever hole from which you crawled.”

“But I just arrived!” Tom protested as Loki began to hustle him back up the hill and into the forest.  
“All the more reason for you to return. No real harm done... yet.”  
“What are you doing here anyways – wait – wait – I mean it. You didn't answer –“  
“I am not here to –“  
“Please. Loki. Let me help –“

Tom nearly died then. It was a very close thing. 

-0-0-0-

 _When had things started to go wrong?_ Loki wondered as his fingers clamped around Thomas's neck yet again. _When did my life become irredeemably complicated? Was it when I gave into the mad Titan and went along with his mad schemes in hopes a better opportunity for total freedom would arise? Or before that when I had taken the throne of Asgard in hopes that I would prove myself the better prince? Or before even that when I merely desired to show Thor's stupidity and ruin his big day? Or before that... when life just seemed a pile of challenges that I could never seem to rise to adequately in the eyes of my father and Asgard..._

His cool fingers closed about the warm neck, relishing in the power which pulsed through his veins. The mortal's hands scrabbled along Loki's leather coat and for a moment there was only the distance sound of stones cracking apart, ice creaking, trees rustling, wind whistling past and the choked gargle of the mortal hanging from his raised arm. 

_Please. Loki. Let me help._

_The gall. This weakling actually thinks –_ Loki snarled, throwing the tall man to the ground, coughing and heaving, half curled up in a ball at his feet. He had a mind to raise his foot and crush that fragile skull. A dark leather boot rose and then rested on a blue scarf and a slightly reddened and tan cheek. 

“Help?”

His voice sounded so ugly in his ears, but Loki forged onward. 

“Help?” The god couldn't help but laugh. It sounded like glass scraping against glass. “There is nothing for you here but death, foolish one. It would be a mercy to kill you here and now and put you out of the misery of your pathetic existence.”  
“Please, Loki,” the whisper made him pause. “I am sorry. I wasn't thinking. Sorry.”  
“Hmph.”

Loki eased back and eyed the man as rose shakily, wiping off his cheek and adjusting his now very askew blue scarf while staring down at the ground, shoulders slumped with disappointment. The mortal looked up, blue eyes meeting Loki's for a few seconds before looking away again.

“I will go now,” Thomas's smile was quick this time. Forced. A little pained. “And let you get on with your... important business.”  
“Yes, go. You are not wanted here.”

Loki turned his back emphatically on the mortal and glared over the wastelands that he had been consigned to according to the ever foolish dictates of his would-be father. 

“Good luck... Loki,” Thomas said after a pause. 

Loki did not answer, but when Thomas disappeared back into the woods, Loki shivered as the forest, as the wastes, as the wind and the snow, as the silences ate up the comforting sounds of that warm, golden mortal. The light crunching footsteps which faded into the night from whence they had come.

 _It is better that you are not here_ , Loki repeated stubbornly to himself. _It is a mercy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness!
> 
> Next time a longer chapter, I promise! Involves tomato soup in canteen business. LOLZ. Tom.
> 
> Let me know what you think! I'm always up for a chat! :)


	4. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom won't take a no... right?

The Mortal, the Jotunn and the Wardrobe

 Chapter 4  
The Return

Three and a half weeks later, Tom found himself checking the closet in his American hotel room for the umpteenth time before he turned in for bed. It was his habit now. A secret habit. A secret. He had secrets now... _So help me God_ , Tom shut the closet door with a shake of his head, ruefully. He had told no one. Not his parents (as much as he loved them), nor his sisters (as much as he adored them), nor his close friends. Not even Chris knew.

And Chris knew a lot about Tom. 

No. This was for Tom and Tom alone. _Besides_ , he reminded himself. _If you told anyone you found a door to Jotunheim, they'd think you were an absolute nutter and pack you off to some kind of institution. Or they'd suggest you give up the role of Loki... Heath Ledger's shades and all that._ The actor switched off the room lights, kept on the bed lamp and sat back with a book of poetry. Focused on the first line. _A good thing the whole Narnia time switch thing is in effect – if I took to being away for long periods of time... Well, it wouldn't work for me._ Tom hit himself on the head with the book repeatedly. _Stop. Thinking. About. It. It is over! Over! And who's to say that anyone is alive over there now? And it isn't like it will happen again anyways. Your small visit is nothing but a blip on the long horizon of an ancient realm in the life of an ancient god... less than a blip... Focus, Hiddleston, focus!_

With that, the actor forced himself to start reading the first poem aloud. Within moments, Tom Hiddleston was in a world of rhyme and verse – sometimes reading a particularly well-written piece out loud, savouring the words on his tongue. When he began to feel sleepier (and this was sad because it wasn't even yet eleven o'clock!), he shut off his bedside lamp, set the book carefully aside and finding his favourite position, fell asleep almost immediately. The sleep of the just as it were. 

This night, when he awoke at the ungodly hour of three o'clock in the morning, Tom felt wide awake. For a moment, he wondered if his mind just didn't need anymore sleep. _Or maybe it's jet lag. Although you've been here for a while now. That can't be it, surely._ Tom turned and stared up at the hotel room's plain ceiling. _And it's not like you were bothered by anything..._

An image arose in his mind then – Loki's back turned to him. Loki's back before the dark, barren forest overlooking a dark, barren world. The moonlight had shone so brightly on the fields of white – and Loki had looked more like a hawk brooding over the broad vista beyond which spread out from the bottom of the gentle slopes at his feet. Loki's back which had seemed more tense. Tighter. Sadder. Smaller. Lonelier.

_You don't want to be a man with regrets_ , Tom, he sighed. _But you already got a massive one now, haven't you?_ Scrubbing his face madly, the actor turned onto his other side and considered his options. He could huddle in bed and try to pretend to sleep – or just give up and surf the net. Or something. 

With that, Tom rose and began to pull out his lap-top when he realized that a trip to the closet was in order. No, not because of his Jotunheim Narnia experience. No. Not because of that. Nope, he just needed his cord since his Mac had run out of juice earlier that evening. Sliding the mirrored closet door open, Tom didn't even flinch at the bizarre arctic breeze which blasted into his face suddenly, whipping back his floppy scrub-brush dark-blonde hair. 

Ah yes. Jotunheim at its finest.

That was when Tom discovered that he was grinning. Loki had, after all, told him to leave... but had not said anything specifically against Tom returning. Since that memorable (and short) jaunt on Jotunheim, Tom had been trying to think up a counter argument for Loki – just in case the aloof and very frosty (a-har) prince would try to send him back home again. Over and over in his mind, he had considered the matter from all angles. It wasn't obsession. No. Not that. _Just... friendly worry for a non-friend, sort of friend. Maybe friend_ , Tom amended.

Rubbing his hands, the actor got to work, packing his small duffel bag with extra socks, another pair of pants and a sweater. He pulled on two jumpers before donning his wool coat (Luke had stared at him funny when Tom had insisted on bringing it along despite the fact that it was full on summer in L.A.). On went his checkered scarf and mitts (contraband also hidden at the bottom of his luggage which Luke would hopefully not notice) and then he paused as another idea hit him. Pulling off the mitts, Tom filled the hotel room kettle with water, set it on to boil (thanks to the electric, it was easily done) and made up two canteens of tea, lightly sweetened with milk and sugar. He gathered up the snack items he had in the small minibar in the corner of his hotel room, making a mental note to tote up the cost later and shoved them into the duffel bag as well. Making sure the canteens were tightly closed, he laid them in, zipped up the bag, set his shoulders and stepped through. 

Again.

-0-0-0-

It was ungodly cold. Yes. The same as before – but this time, Tom felt a bit more prepared – and, finding his footing carefully, edged down the crags by the tiny iced over river. Clinging to the trees about him, the slender actor made his way back over the dark terrain ( _was it always night in Jotunheim?_ ) and back down to the edge of the forest. It was the same. More or less. Except that in the clearing at the edge of the forest and within the small outcropping of a rocks, shielded from the wind and unwelcome eyes, a familiar lean figure leaned over a tiny fire. Miserably.

Or so Tom thought. _Although he would kill you before admitting that he is miserable_ , Tom sighed as he made his way over to the ring of huge boulders. The opening was narrow enough to allow only one person to enter at a time – easily within sight of the lone traveller. The blonde man didn't even flinch when an ice dagger sailed past his left ear.

“Did you not listen to my warning, fool?” bit out Loki, miserable Prince of Asgard. “I told you to leave this place –“  
“And I left,” Tom replied calmly. “Then I came back. You didn't say I couldn't come back. Sorry,” he added as he took a seat without invitation. 

Loki, oddly enough, did not reply. 

“How long has it been since you last saw me?” asked Tom curiously.  
“A day and a half,” was the grudging response.  
“Hm.”  
“You could not stay away for less than two days?” snorted Loki. “Your insatiable curiosity will kill you one of these days, Thomas.”  
“Two days? Oh, sorry, no,” Tom began to unzip his duffel bag and held up a canteen with a brilliant (and he hoped not irritating) smile. “A good three weeks for me. Trust me. I wanted to be back sooner –“  
“I was not waiting for you.”  
“No,” Tom's head rose at that and he glanced at Loki shrewdly. Loki who suddenly studied the rocks between his feet rather intensely. “No, I guessed not. But I still wished to return. I felt like we got off on a bad foot last time and I thought –“  
“Well, you thought wrong.”  
“You didn't even hear what I thought!” protested Tom. “How is that fair?”  
“I am pretty certain whatever passed through that pathetic skull of yours was the usual useless drivel.”  
“Now, I was just going to say that I thought you'd like to be relieved with some tasty stuff after camping out here. Food, I mean. And tea. Do you like tea? Do you drink tea in Asgard? I remembered Branagh mentioning mead and ales and whiskeys and things...” He trailed off at the thunderous expression on Loki's face and Tom remembered the long miserable hours he had endured doing takes within Loki's cell on Asgard.

_Right, Tom_ , he chided himself. _Why don't you remind him of what he's missing out on? That's a great idea._

“So, tea,” Tom handed over the canteen and proceeded to unscrew his own. “Tea is immensely fortifying, I think. And I've got some biscuits here – and some... little buns I had nabbed on my way out from dinner – just in case you know. And chocolate. And more chocolate – and look – MORE chocolate. Not the kind of pudding I appreciate, honestly, but it'll do for now. Next time I will bring soup, maybe, and we could have a real dinner...” 

Tom glanced up and froze at the confused look on Loki's face. Confused, he had decided was never good. Confused Loki meant defensive Loki. Defensive Loki meant aggressive Loki. Aggressive Loki meant... well, it probably meant maiming if not death. Yes, Loki was confused – bewildered even, staring at the bubbly mortal as if he had lost his marbles. 

_You probably have lost your marbles_ , Tom chuckled to himself. _Sitting in your wardrobe on Jotunheim with the character you played on the silver screen. Yep. If that isn't crazy, I don't know what is. No, don't worry about it. First things first. Get Loki relaxed..._

-0-0-0-

“Hey, man, you just, uh, unscrew the lid like this...”

With that, he leaned forward, took the unopened canteen from Loki's limp hands and exchanged it for an opened bar of chocolate and six biscuits. Loki automatically took the proffered food and began to chew on the biscuits. The chocolate really caught his interest however. Thomas unscrewed Loki's lid and handed it back to him while digging out the dinner rolls.

“And there you go, voila! Tea! It's great! And hot! I hope you like hot. If you don't – just freeze it. Tea is great iced as well. And here we go – the dinner rolls. Good thing I got into a habit of sneaking food about. Although I'm pretty sure if people caught me, they'd think I was going crazy or something. Bad eating habits and all – not so accepted on my version of, um, Midgard. Now. I think there was a knife in here... and look – these little plastic-wrapped strawberry jam. Horrid I know. But much nicer than nothing, right? I don't think it's too bad if you –“  
“Do you always talk this much?”  
“Sorry, pardon?”  
“Do you always talk this much?” asked Loki, sipping his tea, green eyes fixed on Thomas's ever expressive face.  
“Oh. Sorry. Um. Sorry. I'm just so... excited. Really, I'm uncontrollable about things like this – but I just... I'm just so glad to get a chance to come back and um... not help. I'm not helping or anything,” Thomas hurried to say. “But to set things to rights.”  
“Hm.” Loki stared into the depths of his canteen as if the truth about the universe could be found in its murky depths. _Thomas William Hiddleston. The Mortal Who Could Not Leave Well Enough Alone. What do I do with you?_ “Consider it set then. You need not return.”  
“Do you... really want me to... to never... come back?” asked Thomas hesitantly, voice small – his open face clouded with disappointment. “Was it something I said? Did I do something –“

Loki raised a hand and the mortal fell silent. For a moment, silence (of a sort) reigned as Loki weighed the matter carefully. _He won't stay away. He's that Type._ Loki smirked to himself, remembering Thor's platitudes which had eventually melted away into sad determination. _But I might as well take what I can while it lasts._ The god accepted three round buns gooey with some kind of sweet red substance not unlike the apple jelly he had grown up with. _Thomas may have his uses after all._

“Very well then,” sighed Loki (trying to sound put upon and not quite succeeding) and gulped a bit more of the sweet tea, enjoying the warmth and the light flavouring. “This food is passable, if strange. And...” he added grudgingly, “your company is acceptable. For a time.” He ended sharply, cutting Tom off before the mortal could spout platitudes of thanks. Loki paused. “So if you were to return – you would bring some sort of soup?”  
“Yes, yes,” Tom nodded. “What kind do you like? We have chicken, beef, mutton – that's lamb, you know, oh. You do know. And um, there's pork too, I guess. If you wish to have pork – I mean, boar. And for carbs... rice or noodles. Do you have rice in Asgard? What about noodles? How about crackers? And vegetables. Well, we could go on and on – carrots, onions are a must, beans are pretty great – oh! Peas and corn. Those can be good too. Depending on the broth of course. Do you like the broth thick or thin? Thick can be –“

Tom's cheerful voice rose, drifted and then scattered on the wind. Jotunheim swallowed his words and light and warmth – and Loki did as well. They were both hungry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnddd... what's going to happen now?
> 
> Whatcha think? Let me know~!


	5. The Norm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomato in a flask remedy - coming up!

The Mortal, the Jotunn and the Wardrobe

 Chapter 5  
The Norm

Loki forced Thomas to return home that evening, citing various dangers which stalked Jotunheim and haughtily dismissing any of the mortal's returned concerns. Unlike the lightly tanned man, Loki and his pale skin belonged on this world. He barely felt discomfited by the cold, and he knew that if he transformed, Jotunheim would no doubt feel like balmy paradise. But Loki did not change. Particularly not in front of the ever exuberant Thomas of the strange Midgard who did not know him except in name. 

_What did the stories say of Loki Silvertongue_ , he wanted to ask – but that sounded even more moronic and self-aggrandizing than usual, so the exiled god held his tongue. He spoke little. _A change, I suppose from the old days where I would turn a pretty phrase at the drop of a hat._ Instead, he revelled in Thomas's banal chatter which steered him away from the reality of his situation. 

He could hear Odin's voice still resounding from outside the glass wall of his cell as he sat back, insouciant smile on his face and an insolent slouch to his seat. Loki had refused to stand at the entrance of his would-be father and King – much to Thor's disappointment and Frigga's dismay. _Never mind them_ , Loki flinched away his mother's sad blue eyes. _They_ _were not sent on a foolhardy, impossible mission to Jotunheim. Yes, that was a great plan. Send the runty Jotunn they abandoned as a child back to the people he had attempted to wipe out – no matter that he had reasons, that it was – never mind. Never mind._

So, Thomas was packed off home. Loki tried not to look excited at the prospect of soup and bread (however poorly made). His current stay on Jotunheim, though not yet long, had thus far yielded nothing for him to eat excepting eel which he could catch at the frozen lake below and some kind of black grass which tasted rather bitter.

_What a useless Realm_ , Loki thought, watching Thomas's slender back disappear into the woods. _You could follow him back to the comforts of his world – but then... but then..._ Loki sighed. _Do you wish to be a criminal your entire long life? And no doubt that weak-minded idiot would also be forced to suffer Odin's wrath._

Loki went back to his small fire and rocky outcropping. His hard bed and the ceiling of his new home – speckled with thousands of stars and dim moons. _Long hours in the shadows..._ The god paused at the sight of a faint light lining the tops of the far mountains. The heralding of the Jotunheim cold suns. _Long hours..._

Not so long when Thomas was there. 

-0-0-0-

Tom's bad habit developed into full-blown daily obsession. Or rather, nightly obsession. Outwardly, he went about his business just as usual. Interviews, preparing for the new projects he had signed up for, signing contracts, discussing potential projects with his manager and friends and family, smiling for the camera and answering fan mail. Every night however, Tom double-checked the closet or wardrobe or any possible outlet to Jotunheim before going to sleep. And he told no one. 

Two weeks passed before the next visit. Time had passed two days on Jotunheim according to Loki who was still camped out at the edge of the forest, looking more apprehensive than usual. This meant that not only time was moving slower on Jotunheim, but also that there was no apparent rhyme or rhythm or reason for the ratio of time. It came when it came; it went when it went. Tom was back in England when his next chance came up – which was great because soup would be easier made in his cozy kitchen than in a hotel room. 

_I wonder what he would think of pizza or Indian take out?_ Tom paused, brow furrowed. _Or fish and chips?_ He brightened. _Well... it's not like he can be picky. He has probably had worse – and besides... it'd be fun... Ice cream. Pasta. Pudding... like those jello things or cheesecake. Hm. Perhaps I should start a list._

He started a list. 

Packed up a backpack he had bought specifically for his trips to Jotunheim – pre-stocked with clean clothes ( _just in case_ ), bathing products ( _maybe Loki would get an opportunity to shower? Who knew._ ), chocolate, snacks, more chocolate, two canteens of hot chocolate and another three of soup. One for him, the others for Loki to keep. And enjoy. Hopefully.

Through his wardrobe he went, no longer worried or concerned about how crazy this all was. Not anymore. If this was descent into madness, Tom was determined to at least do his best with what opportunity he was offered – and enjoy himself. _Ah. The ever frozen river. And the dead quiet forest. The whistling wind._ The heavy snow beneath his well-booted feet and down he went to the rocky outcropping – and there was Loki jumping to his feet looking a little disgruntled and owlish.

Tom tried not to smile. Loki had been sleeping. _Well. That was... Cute? Best not say that aloud, Tom_ , he reminded himself. _Not if you wish to keep up your night job of soup kitchen for exiled gods on Jotunheim._

“Hey, man,” he said coming through to sit by the smouldering fire which was now being raised a little by strange twiggy things. “Got soup today – just as I promised.” Tom sat down and unslung his backpack. “You know... d'you want me to bring a pillow? Sleeping bag? Anything like that? Easy enough to get – and much more comfortable than the... ice mattress you seem to be bedding down on. Your, um, family didn't send along any camping gear?”  
“Thomas.”  
“Uh... ye-yes? Sorry.”  
“The soup.”  
“Oh, right.” The lax fingers sprang to life again and Tom set out the first canteen of tomato soup he had managed to fix up (with the over-the-phone supervision of his mother). “Here you go. Sorry. Just. You know. Thinking things.”  
“You should stop.”  
“Stop what?”  
“Stop thinking things.” Loki eyed the steam wafting up from his canteen with an indecipherable expression.  
“Well, um, that's me – I'm really not trying to pry. Just want to, um, never mind.”

Loki gingerly sipped the thick red liquid. It slid down his throat – burning hot but comforting – smooth and tasty. Well-seasoned and a hint of meat and vegetables. Tom held out a spoon and fork, offering them silently, and Loki used the fork to dig up some sort of familiar-looking vegetables. There was nothing said as the god wolfed down his the contents of his canteen. Halfway through, Loki paused and watched as Tom slowly sipped his soup and stared out through the entrance back into the dark forest. 

The god's dark eyebrow rose. _Apparently, the blabbermouth could hold his tongue._ He glared down at his canteen. 

“Did you make this yourself?” he finally said, angry at himself for feeling so angry. And sorry. Mostly angry at being sorry.  
“Yes,” Tom hesitated. “I'm sorry if it tastes funny. First time.”  
“No. It's fine.”

Awkward pause.

“It is... not unwelcome, to be truthful,” Loki finally mumbled, fingering his spoon – turning it over and over in his palm.  
“Sorry. Pardon. Um, what is not unwelcome?”  
“Your inane babbling.”  
“Oh.”  
“It is nice to hear. After nights of solitude...”  
“Right, yes. I guess. There don't seem to be any Jotunn here, huh. Just you.”  
“For now,” agreed Loki with a sigh.  
“There will be other Jotunn soon?” Tom's blue eyes widened with worry.  
“Never you mind,” Loki cut off the other's no doubt misguided concern. “Speak of this soup. You said it was the first time? You made it by hand?”  
“Yes,” Tom let the topic go and focused on the remnants of soup in his canteen which he slurped up easily. Long hours waiting for the weather to clear enough to shoot _Henry V_ had taught him the art of supping many kinds of food from flasks. “I mean, I had to call my Mum, of course. No real knowledge of this stuff, really. I know how to fix up potatoes and boil noodles. Heat stuff up. Order in takeout, of course. Ehehehe... I guess as personal chef of Prince Loki of Asgard, I will have to up my game as it were.”  
“It is a fine start,” Loki sniffed. “What vegetables and meat did you put in this soup?” He added hurriedly, not wishing to let his sort-of compliment go to the mortal's head.  
“Well, now, let's see – what did I say – onions, and these here are beans – and the round orange things are carrots. That oh, wait... um. A pea. This is corn. And here we have...”

And so Tom talked and Loki listened and hot chocolate was passed out and enjoyed (Loki became an instant hot chocolate addict) as were the snacks and then Tom talked some more and Loki listened some more with the occasional caustic comment and then Tom returned under a lightening sky. 

-0-0-0-

“So, you are not married, I gather?”  
“No, um. Not yet. I would like to have a family and kids at some point. You?”  
“I – I –“ Loki paused and frowned at the carton of rice, samosas and curry before him. “Why are you not married then?”  
“Well,” Tom laughed easily then, deciding he liked his head very much where it was and pursuing the topic would no doubt endanger it, “I guess I haven't met the right one yet. I've been busy. With work and things. Just so many things to experience, you know? The world to see and explore – and only so much time to work with.”  
“Hm.”

Loki realized then that Thomas had a gift he could only imagine. What he had seen as a weakness and a curse – such a short life was also a gift. _The prerogative to savour each moment of life and not focus on the inessentials. Although some mortals waste their lives with idiotic pursuits... I am fairly certain Thomas would not._

_Thomas is different._

-0-0-0- 

“What is the weather like in the country you live in?”  
“Right now? A little rainy. Hm. Well, it rains in England all the time. So our country is very green.”  
“It is a big country?”  
“No. Very small.”  
“It is an island in my Midgard.”  
“Yes. Yes, still an island,” Tom laughed then. “Maybe that's an universal invariant.”  
“Perhaps.”  
“Was your country ever large? Is better as it is now, do you think?”  
“Good question, um, you know... England used to be... much bigger than it was now. Not physically I mean, but um, it was an empire you know. Still has it in a sense. A Commonwealth. What's a Commonwealth? Well, I guess in the most simple terms I'd say a collection of countries...” 

-0-0-0-

“You like women, Thomas?”  
“Yeah, I guess.”  
“You guess?” Loki smirked, amused. “You either do or don't, foolish mortal.”  
“Well then, yes,” Thomas refused to meet Loki's twinkling eyes. “What stands out for you in most women, Loki?”  
“Hm. Intelligence, I suppose. Confidence. Commonsense. A sense of style. Power. Curiosity.”  
“You have quite the list there,” Tom laughed. “You've been thinking about it much?”  
“Not really,” Loki said vaguely, a blush rising to his cheeks. “I am... just...” He glared at Thomas. “Stop laughing, lack-wit human. What are your requirements?”  
“Um, well. Most of what you said. Probably not power though.”  
“You do not wish your woman to be strong?”  
“Well, what is power?”

Thoughtful pause.

“That is a good question,” Loki finally ceded.  
“Hm. Well. Power... do you mean magical power?” asked Tom.  
“Perhaps. I would wish for an equal.”  
“That makes sense.”  
“Since you lack power, it would be reasonable to assume that you would not require it in your woman.”  
“Wife, man, wife. Wait...” Tom cocked an eyebrow. “You're calling me weak?”  
“You have no magical or physical abilities –“  
“Hey! I'm not built like Hemsworth – but I can, you know, play a mean game of ping-pong. And uh... swimming... running... yoga...”  
“And here I thought you were all brains,” Loki replied sarcastically.  
“Never mind,” Tom rolled his eyes. “I'm weak. OK. Fine. I can live with that.”  
“So... physically, what is it you desire?”

Tom suddenly remembered that Loki could shape shift in mythology. He eyed the warrior-mage and shifted awkwardly. 

“Well, uh, the eyes – um, if they're –“  
“Breasts. I am speaking of breasts,” Loki said deadpan. “Big, small?”  
“Uh, I can't – sorry. Um. Experiencing some kind of a retroactive paradigm shift over here...” Tom rubbed his half-frozen face self-consciously. A deep red rising beneath his light tan. “Medium?”  
“Hmph. A safe reply.”  
“Well, some girls look nice with, you know,” Tom gestured vaguely, “larger ones. And some girls look great with... smaller.”  
“Basically, you take what you can get,” Loki's lips curled. “Bizarrely enough, this kind of pathetic reasoning sounds typical –“  
“Hey now!” Tom protested. “That is not what I meant and you know it, Loki! And what about you – I mean, bigger or, um, smaller?”  
“You do not have a mean bone in your body, do you, puny mortal.”  
“It's Tom.”  
“Thomas.”  
“Right,” sighed Tom. “Thomas. And you have to answer my question. Don't think you'll get away with it.”

This was the norm.

This was Tom's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm... think this will work with Loki?   
> Let me know what you think!


	6. The Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important talk between our 2 protagonists.  
> A lot of talking in this fic. >

The Mortal, the Jotunn and the Wardrobe

 Chapter 6  
The Talk

One night, a month later for Loki and half a year later for Tom (in total), the blonde actor stepped through his trailer's closet and into the familiar cold dark. _A regular night on Jotunheim, I see_ , Tom hummed, peering about before hiking down the side of the mountain-cliff and then shuffled into the usual circle of light cast by the small flames of Loki's fire. The actor paused. _Wait... I can't believe I'm commenting on Jotunheim weather. This is insane._

Then he noticed that he appeared to be alone.

“Loki?”

Loki wasn't in. Tom blinked, eyed Loki's small pack, assumed the god was out somewhere and due to return soon. He shrugged, took his usual seat and began to pull out the supplies he had brought for his not-quite-friend-yet friend. _Wonder where he got to... relieving himself? Hunting? On his super mysterious quest which I can't even think, much less ask about?_

“Thomas...” Loki's cool voice broke into the actor's thoughts. Oddly hesitant. “You returned.”  
“Uh.... why wouldn't I come back?” Tom turned then, relaxing in relief at the sight of the familiar face – so much like his own and yet... not. Unwashed, shaggy black hair. Hunted green eyes. Pale skin stretched too tightly over bone. “Oh no...” He eyed the long string of unappetizing eels hanging from Loki's hand. “How long have I been gone this time?”  
“A week,” Loki said stiffly. 

He sat. Took out a short hunting knife and set to work on the eels, slitting them up the sides expertly, gutting them (tossing the innards to feed the red flames) and skewering the eel meat on magically sharpened “iron wood” sticks. Iron wood was what Loki called the black trees about them. 

“I am so sorry, Loki. So, so sorry! Only three days passed for me. I promise! I came right away – and I thought...”  
“You thought wrong.”  
“Sorry,” mumbled Tom.

Loki did not reply. 

_Great, Tom. Now he's in a sulky mood. What do you do with a sulky god who can tear you from limb to limb?_ No one moved – and it seemed like Loki was studiously avoiding Tom's peace offering of lasagna (takeout from a local Italian restaurant). _I guess, my being absent so long reminded him that depending on me could be seen as a weakness_ , Tom guessed. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and feeling more fatigued than usual, definitely feeling every one of his thirty-two years.

Five minutes passed before Tom finally gave up and helped himself to one of the Styrofoam boxes, pulled out his fork and dug in. _Might as well eat the lasagna - while it's still hot..._ Grudgingly, Loki took the second and finished it swiftly and equally silent. Tom shoved over the third box of pasta in a quiet invitation.

More awkward silence filled with the sound of chewing and slurping hot mocha. Tom never felt more glad to have some coffee in his hands.

“You are not running off at the mouth as usual, Thomas.”  
“Oh. Sorry, I –“  
“Stop apologizing. It is a sign of weakness.”  
“Sorry. I mean...” Tom lapsed into more uncomfortable silence before breaking it again tentatively. _Loki seems to have missed my chatter... maybe?_ “I did not mean to abandon you here. I checked every night – and hoped, but...”  
“I do not feel abandoned.”  
“Oh.”  
“Why would I miss your company?” Loki sniffed. But it sounded more like he was telling himself to do something than ask a question. “Impudent mortal,” Loki tacked on at the end. 

_Unconvincingly_ , Tom thought. Hoped.

“O-OK.” A pause and then an impish grin crossed the handsome actor's face. “Maybe because of my charming personality?”

Loki snorted.

“The personality of my bro –“ A twitch. “Thor's goats, more like.”  
“Hm.” Tom wisely ignored Loki's slip up and watched the god relax again. “A goat, huh. Aesir goats?”  
“Of course,” Loki said scathingly. “What other kind of goat could I mea – oh. On Midgard, you have goats of some kind, do you not?”  
“Yes. Irascible animals. Eat things – I mean, strange things – like clothes and stuff. You see them in Wild Wild West cowboy flicks,” Tom replied vaguely. Shrugged. “Just what I heard, mind you. Don't know if you should go by rumours alone...”  
“Like believing in stories about me?”  
“Well,” Tom hesitated. “Perhaps. There are many stories about you. Many with similar elements – like your Jotunn nature or how you can make clones of yourself. That's fairly standard. Sometimes you have kids. Sometimes you switch gender. I am... quite knowledgeable on a couple of the versions. My favourite, I guess, is Marvel's new movie-verse.”  
“What happens?”  
“Well, uh, you love your brother but you feel left out – and a bit concerned about his readiness for the throne. You set up some deal with Jotunn that get them killed trying to get the Casket – and successfully halt Thor's coronation... Kinda incite him to go to Jotunheim. Go to Jotunheim... Discover mid-battle that you are Jotunn and then Thor is banished, you and Odin have an argument. Then, um... Odinsleep. You're made King. Start to, uh, set things in motion to protect Asgard by, um,” here Tom winced, “wiping out all Jotunheim. Try to divert your brother with the Destroyer. Kinda fail... Fight Thor – and the Bifrost is destroyed... Fall... Let go of your Dad's... Gungnir. Disappear for a while. Not dead. That's one story we have... Am I close?”  
“Fascinating,” was all Loki said. “So I was the villain of the piece.”  
“You generally are...” Tom added hurriedly. “... in the stories. But it's probably a pack of lies.”  
“No. Seems fairly accurate, your version.”  
“Oh.” Pause. “Sorry.”  
“If I said that the next time you apologize unnecessarily, I would slay you – would you believe me?”  
“Uh. No... not really,” Tom scratched his head. “I mean. I don't think you're all that bad deep down.”  
“I came to your Earth and waged war as an emissary for a Mad Titan who desires, above all, death,” Loki said shortly, eyeing the blonde now with open curiosity.  
“Oh. So _Avengers Assemble_ happened too?” Tom sighed. “I'm...” A beat. “Right. Uh. We just did _Thor 2_. Coming out this year – you and Thor against Malekith – although that stunt you pulled...” Tom trailed off, shaking his head, reprovingly.

Loki shrugged. “Would you expect anything less? This is who I am, Thomas.”  
“You don't have to be.”  
“I have no choice that is what I feel sometimes. I think that perhaps, perhaps, this is my doom,” Loki's gaze fixed on the fire. Hard. “The others think so as well.” A bitter smile. “But here I am with a meaningless second chance.”  
“Chances – second chances don't have to be meaningless,” Tom replied softly. “Life is what you make it. You can live up to their low expectations of you – or you could surprise them and do something right for once. Well... not that you were all wrong last time... just... cryptic. Which is confusing. For everyone.”

A pause.

“You need to confide in someone. Not me. I know. I'm some weakling, pathetic, babbling, witless mortal... but your Mum, maybe. Or... find a new friend. Start fresh.”  
“You appear to have given it much thought.” Loki frowned then as Tom shrugged. “Do many in your realm think as you do?”

At the god's question, Tom's memories rose. One of his first interviews and the earnest young woman letting him know that Loki beat the Avengers at the polls. His shock. Pleasant surprise. And then it had begun. The small rumblings of _Thor_ which had escalated after _Avengers Assemble_. Fans came out of the woodwork. His Twitter was inundated. Facebook page friended by thousands. If the rumours were correct Tumblr was the stronghold of his following... And the donations for UNICEF... all in the name of Hiddleston. And Loki. 

Loki's Army. Loki cosplay. Posters of dark Loki, Norse Loki, kitty Loki, gay Loki (with various Avengers). Cute tubby Loki's standing beside him. Beside Tom. Always at his side. In an informal way, Tom had become the Ambassador's for Loki's Kingdom. His emissary. His defender. Loki's Army.

-0-0-0-

“Never mind,” Loki's hard voice cut sharply into Thomas's thoughts. “It was an idiotic question –“ 

_So the Norns sent me Midgard's only champion of Loki as aid for this quest... and of course, he's a half-wit. Would have to be... Norns preserve me._

“No,”Thomas said quickly, stifling another apology. “No. I was trying to gather my thoughts. Trying to explain... You know, in the way you like. Succinctly, that is.”

Loki sighed, annoyed. _Why could he not just speak? It is not as if lack of thought hindered him before._

“Thomas.” Warning tones.  
“Oh. Right, um. Well. To put it in a nutshell... you have an army. Of a sorts. A fan-base. A – a – a large, huge... group of people love you. Or your looks. Or your character.”  
“They... what?”  
“People love Loki. They are crazy for him, um, you. And, ehehehe... girls really dig the metal and leather gear and the spear fighting and the whole impervious to the Hulk smash thing... and it's really... well, people feel sorry for how things are for you. They think you're misunderstood or something.”  
“I see.” 

Loki didn't see at all. He watched Thomas stow away the flasks before handing out more chocolate and settling down with his second flask of coffee. 

“Look, these people – they do tons of things. They draw – draw pictures of you. Doing things or just standing or sitting or cute pictures of you –“ Here, Loki felt a horror rising up in him. “A cat version of you exists out there. Girls and boys dress up as you. They think you are, um, well, they think you are very attractive,” Thomas mumbled, blushing a little.  
“They find me... pleasing? Not... strange?”  
“Uh, no. No...”  
“Do they not think Thor is a better specimen of manhood and strength?”  
“Some mortals do. Many do. But there are a bunch of people, myself included, who think that your ability to strategize and think things through, manipulate things – just... you have these amazing powers and smarts – and it's not like you can't fight well either. So, yeah. You have fans. People who are devoted to you – and they do great things because of that. They support me and encourage me and donate to good causes and sometimes they do crazy things –“ Thomas winced at some memory and Loki battled down a sudden sensation of protectiveness.  
“I am not following, Thomas. How are you involved?”  
“Well, these movies – the moving pictures –“  
“I know what you speak of.”  
“Right, well,” Thomas nodded before carefully explaining, “well, I act as you in them. I play your character and, uh, that is why... I know so much.”  
“I see.”

For the first time in a long time, Loki didn't know what to say. The flames crackled and popped, the wind howled about the rocks and the trees creaked ominously. Far away, there was a low rumbling sound. Some avalanche or snow-thunderstorm. 

_Somewhere – far away – in another realm of time and space, there is a planet with many people... many people who saw all that I did and yet, and yet, they still understand. Still listen. Still willing to forgive. It is impossible. Thomas is impossible._

_And yet_ , his heart spoke softly then, _he is here. The impossible has come – perhaps, this can herald a second chance like never before._

“Are you angry, Loki?” It was the mortal's – Thomas's voice, now a little high with distress and concern. As usual. “I know I shouldn't apologize – since I love my life and what I'm doing and I don't want you to slay me but, honestly, what we do in our Midgard, well, we don't mean any disrespect –“  
“No.”

Pause. Then Loki added, voice a little rough. “It was unexpected but not... not unwelcome. And it explains much.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Thomas smiled lopsidedly at the lonely god. “So. You know. I have pictures. Here – on my phone and you can see – all the things they say and the things they hope for you – and they want you to find your way home.” Here, Loki found his space rather infringed upon as the mortal moved over and sat close, holding out a metallic object. “See – this is a picture a fan posted and I saved, pretty awesome outfit, huh? She even –“  
“It is a girl,” Loki said fascinated.  
“Well, yes. They make them by hand or order the outfit online – or here, this is a picture of you and Thor –“  
“Hm. The likeness is rather well done.”  
“Yes, I think so too.” The mortal flipped through the pictures with ease. Paused on another. “Here is one of you and I together.”

Loki stared down at the picture of Thomas and he standing side by side. He looked disgruntled, Thomas looked disgustingly cheerful. So, in this world, these unknown masses dreamed that the two of them would become shieldmates – friends. Loki's first and only friend: Thomas. 

Loki considered Thomas's words.

_You need to confide in someone. Not me. I know. I'm some weakling, pathetic, babbling, witless mortal... but your Mum, maybe. Or... find a new friend. Start fresh._

_That is not true, Thomas_ , Loki's lips turned up in a small smile as Thomas pointed out that Loki was wearing a spiffy suit and cool checkered scarf – which he had apparently a copy of in his wardrobe. _You are not weak, pathetic or witless and there is no need for me to start afresh with any. I need no one but you._

And the small, hard, despairing, desperate lump of cold ice that had been his heart warmed just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've caught up to where I wrote - so there will be a delay for the next chappie. Heh. 
> 
> Coming up: Loki reveals his quest.


	7. The News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki reveals all... sort of.

The Mortal, the Jotunn and the Wardrobe

 Chapter 7  
The News

Two visits later, Loki cracked. That's what Tom mentally called it – but he didn't dare say anything out loud, since he loved his throat where it was. Loki, as Tom had guessed previously, could get as touchy as... well, several things came to mind. The thirty-two year old remembered his prepubescent self wondering why his sisters had a habit of going crazy for a few days every month for no good reason. On normal days, Sarah was the annoying, know-it-all older sister and Em was the tomboy-ish sister who would not stop trying to tag along with him when he hung out with his friends. _Then, there was the Beginning of the End of All Things_ , Tom smiled to himself. _First Sarah and then Emma. Ahhh... the insanity._

Tom sipped from his coffee flask and glanced over at Loki, who seemed to be even more on edge than usual that evening. Abruptly, the smooth voice broke the silence. The honeyed voice which still had the ability to give Tom chills, not only because of its coolness and intensity but also because of its similarity to his own. 

“They are coming.”  
“Who are?” Tom glanced at the god. “Your family? Or... no, wait... the Jotunn?”  
“Yes.”  
“Yes to your parents or yes to the Jotunn?”  
“Yes,” Loki sighed then. A big gusty exhale which sort of answered Tom's question. Sort of not.  
“I'm guessing Jotunn.”  
“Hm.”  
“Why are you making contact with them?”  
“It is the mission my father - Odin Allfather - has given to me – there is peace amongst the Nine Realms. Or there is peace among most of the Realms...”  
“But not this one.”  
“No,” Loki shook his head. “I think this entire endeavour is doomed to failure. Perhaps,” he added with relish, “it will be the death of me.”  
“Loki,” Tom said mildly, his face wrung a little with distress. “You can't mean that.”  
“Well, what do you think, Thomas? What do you think the odds of success are for brokering peace between two races who have hated each other since the dawn of time – and such a treaty is to be brought forth at the hands of a Jotunn traitor who not only succeeded in slaying the King of his native people (and thereby committing patricide) but also attempted to blast away their world – and would do so again should the need be great enough?”  
“You wouldn't –“ Tom sat up then, looking even more saddened.  
“Well...” Loki back-pedalled swiftly – but had to add darkly, “Perhaps not, but we shall never know, shall we?”

Tom sighed and rubbed his forehead, a hand rubbing over his eyes as he contemplated his rather complicated existence. _Really, what WAS Odin thinking?_ He wondered to himself. _Loki is far from ready to face his past and who he truly is... Is he being set up to fail?_

 _No no no no no, Tom_ , the actor scolded himself. _Don't go there – that's just... you don't know them. Rather judgemental, right? Plus, you_ _are_ _rather biased towards Loki._

“So they are coming...” Tom blinked. “How did you know?”  
“I met with the first representative last night to outline the protocol for the initial, official meeting between the ruler of this realm, whoever that may be, and myself.”  
“That sounds like a very delicate diplomatic procedure.”

Loki gave Tom a look. Not a nice one. Tom mentally slapped himself. _Of course it's a delicate diplomatic procedure... think, man, think!_

“Well,” Tom protested in response to Loki's unspoken reprimand. “In my defence, this is rather late for me. I am losing sleep here.”  
“As am I, idiot,” replied the god acidly. “Does this look like daytime to you?”  
“I thought... Jotunheim is always dark...”

Another disbelieving look shot his way. It spoke volumes – _no doubt along the lines of 'how do you exist, witless wonder?'_ , Tom sighed. 

“Alright,” Tom returned to the topic at hand. “They are coming. When?”  
“In a day or so.”  
“And how will you meet?”  
“In the middle of the ice desert below us. I will emerge from the forest, which is, as you know, where the cracks between Realms lie open and the barriers between worlds are weakest. It is what they would expect of all travellers – and so we will meet in this area.”  
“Why did you wait so long?”  
“I believe that my – that Odin Allfather had the mistaken notion that I would wish to enjoy my ancestral home while he negotiated with the Jotunn through the dwarfs. From the initial introduction sent by the Negotiator, the talks seemed to have – Are you even paying attention, Thomas?”  
“Sorry. I'm stuck back at dwarfs –“

Loki sighed and rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, Thomas, dwarfs. The neutral craftsmen of the Nine Realms, willing to do business with any being – for a price.”  
“Huh. Sorry... wait a minute. You aren't the initial negotiator?”  
“Indeed, no. To even gain permission for my arrival, or rather official acceptance of my presence on Jotunheim, Odin Allfather had to begin talks through a third party –“  
“The Dwarfs who talk with everyone.”  
“Yep.”  
“Sounds like Switzerland.”  
“Thomas.”  
“Uh... Never mind. So a neutral party helps Asgard in order to gain peace –“  
“Neutral?” Loki poked at the fire with an iron wood skewer pensively. “I would not go so far as to say 'neutral'.”  
“OK, now I am confused.”  
“Heh. It is a matter of money, Thomas. They are no doubt making much profit on either side in the way of concessions from both our peoples.”  
“From the Jotunn AND Asgardians?”  
“Yes.”  
“Wow,” Tom scratched his head and rooted about for the apples he had packed. He tossed one to Loki who stared at it with disdain before wolfing it down and holding out a hand with a silent command for more. “So, let me get this straight. Your Dad –“  
“Odin Allfather. He is not my father.”  
“Your not-Dad,” Tom repeated patiently, “he set up negotiations through the Dwarves and then once he got permission to send you, he sent you –“  
“No, no,” Loki shook his head. “He just got permission a week and a half ago.”  
“You crept in here without official –“  
“Yes.”  
“Deniability. Perhaps. For some reason Fa – Odin Allfather – had this idea that I would 'scope out the Realm' and see in what way we may lend them aid.”  
“And for you to get in touch with your family background and Jotunn heritage,” finished Tom.

Loki looked a little ill at that and tossed the second apple core in a leisurely way over the rocks and into the forest. There was no sound as it fell. Tom felt a brief moment of envy at the ease in which Loki showed his physical prowess. He remembered Chris bench-pressing heavy weights in the gym while Tom went off to swim and do his preliminary stretches before his yoga routine. _In the end_ , Tom sighed, _I guess I'll always be the weaker link physically – compared to others..._ Forcing a smile, he considered Loki's situation. _At least you have a good job and a great family and a roof over your head and food and hot water everyday. Loki might have super strength and super intelligence – but his family have dumped him on a hostile Realm and his everyday living leaves much to be desired..._

 _Not that you can point that out and still breathe_ , the mortal reminded himself. _You don't want that repeat incident when you suggested a bath._

“Speak your mind, Thomas,” the god-who-needed-a-bath-muchly said, breaking into the actor's thoughts.  
“I was just thinking... I was just thinking that you could get in a lot of trouble for showing up early – but that danger is over now that they know you are here. Officially.”  
“Yes.”  
“And you will have to get ready for them,” Tom went on.  
“Yes.”  
“Do Jotunn have any... hygienic standards?” Tom asked delicately. Carefully.  
“Thomas.”  
“Yes?”

Loki suddenly was very much in Tom's space, green eyes sparkling with warning, sweat-stained tunic and leathers brushing up against Tom's side. Trying to edge away without looking like he was trying to edge away – and if he did look like he was trying to edge away, that he was edging away out of fear and not distaste due to certain pungent body odours.

“Are you implying anything?”  
“Well. I just want you to look your best,” Tom said, finally. “You might consider my offer... I could lend you a temporary outfit and then I could, um, dry-clean or something your... usual clothing and then... return them... as quickly as I can... You do not seem to be using your magic for keeping up your appearances...”

That actor trailed off at the thunderous expression on the god of Mischief's face. 

“I am in a foreign land, amongst a foreign people – a hostile Realm – the last thing I should be doing is lowering my guard by attempting to meet your rigorous standards of Midgardian fashion.”  
“Don't you like being clean – uh, forget I said that,” Tom edged away from Loki's twitching hand. “I get it.”  
“Hmph. It is unfortunate – I would desire to enjoy the comforts of many things...” Loki admitted slowly. 

Tom wondered if Loki, sitting in his cell day after day, forced to accept the deficiencies of his life had forgotten for a short while what it was like to feel human again. _Well, not human, Tom_ , he told himself, _he's not human. But something like that. I wonder if he misses it – the enjoyment of fine fabrics and well-washed hair._

“Well, the offer is still extended.”  
“To borrow your clothing?”  
“Yes,” Tom hesitated. “It's no problem, really.”  
“But for you to get your clothing, you will have to return – and what if you are gone and do not arrive until they have already come?” Loki asked, looking rather pleased with himself by the presentation of the dilemma.  
“Oh, I've got some things packed already,” Tom hefted his “Jotunheim Basic Survival Pack” backpack over, placing it between his feet as he began to dig downwards. “I've got towels – towels – a small blanket and, um, pillow.” He caught sight of Loki's sceptical face. “You never know!”  
“Hmph...” But Loki did not say more than that, which relieved Tom. 

_In fact_ , Tom's sharp blue eyes fastened on Loki's attempt to keep a blank face, _I'd say he looks a bit pleased. The idiot._

“And let's see,” the actor returned to his backpack at the nudging from Loki's sharp elbow. “Ah. See. Some jeans – hardy material – and a nice T-shirt and a sweater – two of them if you wish – which you totally can destroy because my aunt gave them to me and they are pretty, well, pretty ghastly if you ask me. She knitted them, the poor dear, but her eyesight is none too good –“  
“What is it supposed to be depicting?” Loki asked with horrified curiosity as he held up the straggling cable-knit sweater – all blue and white.  
“Um, she said something about deer. I don't know. Think those are antlers there?” 

Loki scrutinized this.

“I would rather go naked than wear this.”  
“Suit yourself,” Tom replied cheerfully. “I am certain your august guests will appreciate,” he added cheekily.  
“You mean well, I am sure but... Any compliments you give me are incredibly narcissistic, you do realize,” Loki replied seriously. “I feel the need to point this out.”  
“Hm. I guess you're right...” Tom grinned unrepentantly.  
“You guess?” Loki's eyebrows rose at that. “You guess? Thomas, your cheek grows each day –“ His hard fist met Tom's side and there was a mild tussle and it ended with Tom in a rather un-shakeable headlock with Loki demanding apologies for Tom's 'futile, pitiful attempt at humiliation'. 

Tom apologized easily – but there was a tell-tale smile playing about his lips when he did so. Loki had a sneaking suspicion that the human might be as good an actor as he. 

In the end, Loki did switch into the proffered clothing, including the two sweaters with the bizarrely weaved designs on them. Tom carefully packed Loki's things in another bag and with that, Tom was sent home with many warnings. He was not to be late on pain of death. He was to return Loki's leathers in good order and also bring the mysterious food called tacos, which sounded interesting. 

With that, Tom left. Loki, taking the shampoo and towels Tom had lent him, went down to the icy lake, took a deep breath and began to get ready.

The Jotunn were coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's Tom going to see next time he shows up? DUN DUN DUN!


	8. The Premiere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.... SHORT... update. SHORT. I'm sorry. *sigh*
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyways. v.v

The Mortal, the Jotunn and the Wardrobe

 Chapter 8  
The Jotunn

Tom had been trying his best to mind his own business. He really had been. Really! With high hopes, he had taken chances, learned much, worked hard and had become an overnight sensation. Waking up in the morning, knowing that somewhere out there someone was watching and (hopefully) enjoying his work, rejuvenated and energized the optimistic actor. And the year had begun rather well with the high of Cannes followed by the doors to Jotunheim opening and building something like a friendship with the immortal he had never thought he'd ever meet. The fact that Tom did not dare say that word ('friendship') aloud in Loki's presence since he loved his head where it was... well, that could bother him. But anyways... Cannes, Jotunheim and Loki. Loki who was (presumably) still waiting for him.

Speaking of the devil... As soon as Loki's leathers and greens had been carefully dry cleaned and mended, the actor had carefully packed Loki's clothes in the now very stuffed “Jotunheim Basic Survival Pack”. Now it was up to luck or Fate or God or whatever or whomever was responsible for the portals to Loki's dark home Realm. _Sooner or later_ , he hoped, _the door will open – and hopefully, I'll arrive in time._

_For Loki's sake._

Tom remembered Loki's warning [ _... not to be late on pain of death..._ ] and repressed a shiver. _If I'm really honest with myself... For my survival's sake. Sometimes_ , the actor sighed, _it's hard to tell if he's serious or not._

A week had passed and the premiere for _Thor 2_ rolled around, which meant a few days in Hollywood followed by the usual promotional world tour starting in New York.

New York. In November. This November was blisteringly cold – a chill wind blew down the rows of traffic trapped between steel and glass and concrete beneath a perpetually grey sky. Snow threatened the city having already fallen thickly the day before, now surrendering its whiteness to grey slush and the remorseless churning of car tires. 

Tom, warmly mittened and hatted, a cheery blue scarf wrapped about his neck, inhaled the cool air and smiled as he exited the limo. _Like Jotunheim... in a way..._ He turned to face the red carpet, divesting his coat and winter gear and prepared himself for the long, freezing trip to the theatre in front of the cameras. Luke bundled everything away and followed hard on his charge's heels. 

A good hour of flashing cameras, repetitive interviews, fulsome compliments and screaming fans, Tom felt much warmer with the hype of the event and the adrenaline of the moment. He was ready for anything.

_Anything._

Or so he thought.

After entering the warm press of the theatre's heat, Tom relaxed a little – and double-checking the time with like (a good fourty-five minutes to go until show-time) decided a quick trip to the men's room would be in order. It would be his luck that the paper towels would have run out – and checking the storage closet for extra wipes only revealed a familiar clean brisk breeze of eternal winter, flakes of snow and the rocky incline by a familiar black river.

_Jotunheim._

_Jotunheim at the Thor 2 premier._

Tom gaped – for the first in a long time truly speechless.

_Jotunheim in the loo roll storage closet at the Zeigfield._

Rubbing his hands over his face nervously, Tom glanced about. The cubicle was in use – but luckily no one was at the urinals. No one saw what Tom had seen. Just as he was about to reach for his phone, the person in the cubicle coughed.  


“There's a draft even in here, huh?”

Tom froze.

Sir Anthony Hopkins. In the farthest cubicle, audibly pulling on his trousers. A rustle. _Bugger_ , Tom thought, easing the closet door shut and trying to stand in a relaxed position in front of the little closet. _Sir Anthony is in the same flipping room as Jotunheim. I'm a dead man..._ Then, he remembered. Belatedly. 

No hand wipes.

_Hand wipes. Hand wipes_. Tom whipped open the closet door quickly, and glanced to the right, where one of the side shelving unites held familiar packages. Swiftly, Tom grabbed one and threw the stack onto the bathroom counter and returned to stand in front of the now-rather-drafty closet. Trying to look as cool as a cucumber while his celebrated senior unlocked the cubicle door. 

“Ah! Tom!” Anthony, or as he liked to be called 'Tony', emerged, looking cheery. “This is a brisk cold, isn't it? Gets in everywhere, doesn't it?”  
“Yes, yes,” Tom agreed.

Tony washed his hands. Carefully. Slowly. Mind-numblingly slowly.  


“But a good turn out nonetheless,” the older actor continued.  
“Very,” Tom agreed. Again.  
“You OK, Tom?”  
“Oh yes. Yes, just, um, having to make a call,” Tom rooted about for his trusty iPhone and stared at the lock screen as it turned on.  
“I'll leave you to it then,” Tony smiled. And left. Thankfully.

Tom dialled Luke's number.

“Luke.”  
“Tom. Where are you?”  
“Luke. Luke. Luke.”  
“Tom. What's -”  
“Luke.”  
“Where -”  
“I'm in the, um, men's restroom.”  
“Oh no. Something happened -”  
“No. No. I'm fine. I just, um, well...” Tom hesitated suddenly, uncertain if he could demand such a thing from his personal assistant. _What will he think?_ Tom lamented to himself inwardly. _I'm totally going to look like a twat or a twit or some such thing._

“Tom.” There was a sign now over the other end of the phone. Tom felt (if possible) even worse. “What is it?”  
“Well...”  
“We talked about this before. You need anything just ask. If I can't do it, I'll be up front and honest just as I promised.”  
“Anything, huh? I could say something about lassoing the moon...”  
“Aha,” Luke said dryly.  
“Well, it'sjustthatIneedapackIleftatthehotel. It's really sudden and everything but I need it and I need a few double cheeseburger meals from some fast food place – McDonalds would be easiest, I guess.”  
“You want your super secret pack and some McDonald's meals?” Luke asked neutrally.  
“Yes.”  
“And you need this for the premiere.”  
“Maybe? Not?” Tom winced, unwilling to out and out lie. “Listen, I can go back to the ho -”  
“No, no, Tom, I can do it. No problem,” Luke sighed. “But you aren't going to ditch the premiere, right?”  
“Oh no, no, of course not, Luke!” Tom hastened to assure him. “I'm staying right here. Won't leave the theatre really. Promise.”  
“'Really'?” Luke huffed a short chuckle. “Never mind. I'll be back in a bit.”  
“Thank you so much, Luke,” Tom sighed with gratefulness. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”  
“Whatever you did before,” laughed Luke and with a short goodbye, hung up.

Tom waited. Anxiously. Made small talk with a producer, two visiting directors, Chris (who took forever to leave, or so it seemed) and Zach. _I thought mens' washrooms were always vacant_ , Tom mused pensively, _maybe it isn't true at all... just some kind of urban myth?_

“You know it's starting in ten minutes?” Some random guy from a more recent popular American TV show asked as he washed his hands. 

Tom, wracking his brains trying to remember the blonde man's name, nodded and made a show of checking his watch carefully.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, man. Just, uh, waiting on a call – and it's much quieter in here.”  
“I hear you, I hear you – but it's great to see everyone so excited about the movie. Can't wait to see what Loki's been up to myself... Loved your work as Loki, dude.”  
“Oh, wow, thanks, man,” Tom said, a smile lighting up his face at the compliment which always surprised him. Every time. "Thanks, I mean - just doing what I love right?"  
"I hear you! See you around!"  
"For sure!" Tom nodded, watching as the guy left the room – and then relaxed as Luke bustled in toting a large bag emblazoned with “JBSP” and another paper bag with a familiar pair of golden arches. “Luke! You came! Thank you so much – you don't know how much I appreciate -”  
“I can guess,” Luke smiled and nodded. “So,” he looked about. “What this all about?” 

Tom blushed and looked embarrassed. 

“Um, well, I can't say. Really,” he paused and shuffled uneasily. “Do you mind stepping out for two minutes?”  
“Two minutes?”  
“Yeah, you know – count to a hundred and twenty seconds and then come back in.”  
“OK...” Luke shook his head and shrugged, leaving his (suddenly crazy) client behind in the quiet restroom. “You do know the movie is starting in less than five minutes.”  
“Hm, yes.”  
“Very well...” 

With that, Luke left the room. Stood outside the door. And waited. 

-0-0-0-

One minute, shmoozing on the red carpet – in the next half hour, Jotunheim. _And somehow I am not too worried about this_ , Tom sighed as he made his way through the now very familiar woods. _Which should make me worried – but doesn't_. The tall actor shook his head - but his train of thought was broken when suddenly he had to grab onto a tree as some ice underfoot caused him to slip. Further down more ice cropped up and with a rather undignified yelp and scrambling slither, Tom found himself beyond the forest looking down the ungentle slopes to the edge of the broad vista of ice and snow and more ice.

Except, this time, there was more than flat white and dark skies and lowering pale moons. More than the silent frozen lake and the black woods and dark cliffs behind him. There were tall figures on the ice now - tall, dark blue and black figures cast in shadow and moonlight. Tall craggy figures looking as if they had been carved out of ice. Rough, thick blue skin, ancestral family lines and red eyes. _Jotunn. Jotunn. A large group of Jotunn. Well, that - that shouldn't be a surprise really... but where's Loki?_ Tom's first instinct was to stop – but then his blue eyes found the one he was looking for: Loki. 

Loki. Blue and white knitted sweater. Blue jeans. Long scraggly hair. Super skinny. Super familiar. And despite the fact that he was hanging from the fist of a gargantuan Jotunn, still shockingly arrogant and angry. _Hanging from – Good god!_ Tom slithered and scraped and scrabbled all the way to the bottom.

_LOKI!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a cliffie...  
> Let me know what you think!


	9. The Jotunn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update! Sorry!  
> But we've got some Loki POV and Jotunn POV as Thomas shows up...

 

The Mortal, The Jotun and the Wardrobe

Chapter 9  
The Jotunn

At the sound of a rather incoherent, shrill 'Hey!”, Loki turned his head nonchalantly and awkwardly tried to look down over the massive blue fist gripping his neck. It was just as he feared. Just as he had hoped. And feared. Both.

Part of the God of Mischief wanted to tear the mortal apart limb from limb and show him the price of meddling with affairs not his own – and also because said mortal had showed up late, contrary to Loki's orders. Part of the God of Mischief wanted to run to Tom and embrace him closely and discover what food the idiotic mortal had brought with him. Loki decided to glare at the blonde brush-like hair bobbing his way over the ice, skating precariously over particularly smooth patches.

The Jotunn delegation froze as they took in the sight of another tall, slender Aesir-looking man, making a beeline toward them. The reddened being looked Aesir, but a whiff of his scent (expensive but not earthy), the lack of armour he wore (instead, the creature was clad in black and white) and an apparent lack of immortal magick proclaimed the interloper to be something else altogether.

“Hey! Loki! Wait! Stop!”

Jotunheim stilled.

 

-0-0-0-

The Jotunn had come over scrub and brush and mountains and icy plains to the prescribed Lake Vornvatr where they had promised to meet with the Aesir delegate. The diplomatic branch of peace from Asgard had been extended to Jotunheim. Now bereft of King and in dire need of allies, the Supreme Council had decided that Asgard as ally, although unlikely, was necessary. With grumbling acquiescence (but inward rejoicing), the Jotunn had agreed to meet said diplomat, name as yet unknown. The dwarves had hinted at a Royal being present.

Odin, of course, would not come on such matters. At least not until formal papers needed to be signed. That much was understandable – and the Jotunn knew that was how such things were carried out, as they had always been since the dawn of time and the creation of the Realms.

No. A lesser Royal. Prince Thor, perhaps. And at that thought, a large portion of the Jotunn population shivered. A golden beast who had threatened their land the last time he had set foot on their frozen land. Unable to listen to his betters and prone to temper and wildness, Prince Thor would be the worst diplomat – although rumours spoke of a new tenderness born out of love for a mortal. Nonsense, the Jotunn thought. But they hoped.

And as for the other Prince – a dark mysterious creature, he was. The last one, rumours told, who had spoken to their King. Perhaps Laufey met his doom at the hand of the second son of Odin. A terrible thing if true. And there was that matter of his recent attack on Midgard itself, resulting in imprisonment...

Therefore, upon arrival at Lake Vornvatr, the Jotunn were rather uneasy at the tall, slim figure who rose to meet them at the edge of the lake. Tall, slender as they remembered. Dark-haired and green-eyed and pale. The exact opposite to the golden Prince Thor, although the delegate, Skellir, knew better than to say so. Tall, slender and unarmoured with only a well-wrought spear in one hand. Clad in a strange blue and white garment above and black pants below, the Prince did not seem like himself.

Skellir's eyes hardened. _Has Asgard sent its Prince in such low estate to show their unconcern over the matter? And this Prince! Prince Loki no less - a criminal and a ruffian to boot! Barely managing to keep his place within the Royal family, if the rumours were to be believed, and only recently incarcerated for his wrong-doings!_

The Prince's lips curled up then and his green eyes rose mockingly to meet Skellir as he sketched a low bow. “Ah,” he said then. “Who do I have the honour of addressing?”

“Skellir,” the delegate rumbled, stooping low and for a few seconds met Loki's eye on the same level as he completed his own returning bow. “Skellir of Lord of Snjarhamr. We meet at long last, Prince Loki.”  
“Yes, indeed.” A light voice and smooth, as silver as rumours said.  
“We have much to discuss and little time,” Skellir said evenly. “I hope we did not keep his highness long.”  
“Not very,” Loki surveyed the wild land. “Although this is a land that does not tolerate fools nor does it harbour much life.”

Skellir bristled at Loki's succinct summing up of Jotunheim's state.

“You have been here long?”  
“A short while.”  
“I see,” was the terse reply.

Negotiations went downhill from then onward.

 

-0-0-0-

Hanging from Skellir's slowly tightening fist, Loki wondered once again how it had all gone wrong. _Do they truly desire this peace? Is this a matter of political expediency only or a genuine change of heart? Of course, Thor would read a desire for peace into anything nowadays. The soft-hearted, knuckle-headed fool. Surely Fa – Odin also found this hard to believe. Which is why I am here risking life and limb while he sits upon his throne and laughs at my misfortunes._

He struggled against Skellir's grip for a moment before letting go of the tough skin and satisfying himself with glaring up at the stony-faced delegate. _Or perhaps it is merely the fact that I was the diplomat. As I feared, they may not be as open to me as All-Father hoped. As if they would so easily accept the one who at the very least was the reason for their King's downfall – if they do not already know of the fact that I murdered Laufey. I wonder what they do to those who commit patricide... Hmph._ Loki considered releasing the spell on his skin and allowing the blue of his heritage to take over. _Would that even aid me? Thor was so certain they would accept me, but that may not matter to them in the slightest._

_And perhaps it was something else entirely out of my control. Perhaps my early arrival was suspicious or my clothing is not suitable and they do not believe it is in fact the Prince of Asgard. Curse that mortal fool Thomas._

It was at those thoughts that a familiar voice rose over the ice and there was a grating and slipping sound and a stream of 'hey's and 'wait's and 'stop's.

The mortal fool Thomas. Loki sighed and had a strong urge to bash his brains against Skellir's strong wrist. It would be his luck to be further hampered by the clueless, untimely Thomas.

Skellir drew back and then after a moment set Loki down on the ground. Adjust his clothing again and cricking his neck, Loki turned to scowl at the rapidly approaching mortal who skittered over the uneven ice like a newly born colt.There was something incongruous about Thomas and his clothing and his smiles and his baggage set against the backdrop of Jotunheim's wastes.

 _This is not his world_ , Loki thought. He sighed at the firm set to Thomas's jaw, the dawning relief in those eternally optimistic blue eyes and the sight of the baggage which bounced on a familiar set of shoulders, several brown paper bags in hand. _This is not your world, Thomas._

 _You can never be here. Never belong..._ And a sharp ache throbbed in his chest.

Rubbing the blue and white soft wool absently, Loki frowned at Thomas as the tall man finally reached his side, puffing warm breath in small clouds into the frozen air.

“You are late,” Loki finally found himself saying rather inanely. He hated that. He hated Thomas more than ever. Thomas who stole his words and made him feel more foolish than ever. “Again. I spoke of this last time – to be late on pain of death.”  
“I am so so so so so so so so so so so so sorry!” Thomas panted, holding up several paper bags as if presenting a gift of some sort. A bribe no doubt. “I am so so sorry! I tried my best! I did! But I have no control over these things – and no matter how hard I looked – there was no way back! But as soon as there was, I came. I just left Luke outside the bathroom at the premiere for Thor 2: Dark World and that's why I am, you know...” Here, paper bags crinkled as he gestured vaguely at his black outfit. “All dressed up and everything. These formals were tailored for this specific occasion, but I didn't care what would happen really -”  
“You just placed me, priority-wise, in relation to an outfit,” Loki blinked incredulously, deciding to ignore whatever else Thomas had said since most of it was meaningless anyways.  
“Well -”  
“You are a dead man, Thomas. After I negotiate with Lord Skellir, I will partake of your food and then end your miserable existence.”  
“Look, man, I said I'm sorry! What else can I do to make it up to you?”  
“Give me food and then let me return the favour with death,” Loki glowered at Thomas. “You made me for a fool in front of the delegation and had the temerity to show your face -”  
“I didn't know – look, see -”  
“Prince Loki,” Skellir rumbled above, face rather expressionless at this sudden, surprising, slightly incomprehensible exchange. “Am I to understand you consort with beings such as these? This man is a mortal...”  
“Yes, well.” Loki paused nonplussed before finally settling on a few half-truths. “He is indeed a mortal – from Midgard no less.”

Thomas shifted his parcels and waved with a short bob of his head in a polite bow, stifling a protest at Loki's last words.

“Pardon his manners,” Loki added when Thomas showed no signs of prostrating himself before his betters. “This is Thomas. A rather ignorant servant of mine who provides me with sustenance and clothing during my travels.” A pause. “He was merely returning my garments to me and -”  
“Mortal,” Skellir stooped low to meet Thomas's eye in a longer bow. “Is this true?”  
“Well,” Thomas hesitated and then winced as Loki trod on his hundred pounds worth of leather instep. “In a manner of speaking, I aid Loki in his, um, missions. I consider him to be a worthy friend – and - and he has my allegiance.”

Loki's eyes widened at the last words and Skellir nodded rising.

“There is truth in the mortal's eyes. Let us break our fast and welcome the sun's rising and greet the dawn with merry hearts – and then, let us talk.”

Loki relaxed, realizing that somehow, against all odds and expectations, Thomas's entrance had been more timely than he had first believed. _For some reason, the mortal's presence has changed the Jotunn's minds._ Loki eyed the brown-haired actor calculatingly. _He may have more uses yet. Hm._ Then the prince smiled at Thomas. It was not friendly, but Thomas relaxed when he noticed that Loki did not look like he was going to remove the actor's head from his shoulders. Or other appendages, which would be equally awkward and painful.

“Well then, Thomas,” Loki said. “I will take my clothing and change into more appropriate gear. Prepare the food for me.”  
“Sure,” Thomas nodded. “I'll get on that.”  
“And be certain to address me as is fitting a prince of Asgard.”  
“No problem, Loki. I mean, no problem, Prince Loki.” A pause. “Or wait. I'm sure there's another way. I just have to remember that time I met Prince William at War Horse. Although since we went to school together he said I could just call him Prince Willliam – although in school, we just said Wills... You know, would you like 'Your Highness' or -”  
“Thomas!”  
“Y-Yes?”  
“Be silent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may or may not have noticed, but in some ways, I wanna show Loki as being a metaphor of Jotunheim and vice versa and Tom's juxtaposition to Loki/Jotunheim is very important. I hope it works for you guys as well!
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	10. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A surprise update! WOW! How did I do this? 
> 
> It's all thanks to a certain Monkey Beach and being stuck on the beach for hours with nothing to do. XD

The Mortal, the Jotunn and the Wardrobe

 Chapter 10  
The Truth 

Together, delegation watched the cold sun of Jotunheim rise – as light blue rays pierced the early morning gloom, setting the tips of the cliffs and mountains softly aglow and barely offering warmth to the ever frozen Realm. Loki stood, silent and unmoving beside the man who had somehow saved his life. In a manner of speaking. 

_Of course_ , Loki added sourly to himself, _they would take an instant liking to him!_ The dark-haired green-eyed God of Mischief eyed Thomas's rapt face as said mortal watched the sun edge up and fill the dim valley with its pale light. Thomas, as usual, looked ecstatic. _Perhaps, even more so than normal – which is saying quite a bit._

“There is something about watching the sun rise,” sighed Thomas, breaking the solemn silence finally. (Loki had been wondering when the talkative human would finally break and give in to his baser instincts to babble.) “I don't know – but seeing a new day... just gives me so much hope.”  
“I am glad someone is excited,” Loki replied dryly. And then with not a little trepidation because he knew how this conversation would go already. 'It's about time you returned home at any rate.”  
“Pardon?”  
“Time for you to...” Loki gestured vaguely up the hill toward the forest. “...return home...”  
“But I just arrived!” Thomas replied, aghast. Looking even more crestfallen as the previous joy on his face faded away. Loki flinched as a pleading, blue-eyed puppy-like gaze was turned on him full blast.

_Damn the mortal to Helheim_ , Loki cursed inwardly as the cold stone he called a heart melted just a bit further. _Damn his seemingly sentient eyebrow. Damn his face. This mortal is going to be the death of me._

_Not really_ , another increasingly annoying part of him disagreed. _He did just prove his worth – standing up for you and pledging himself in allegiance to you. When has anyone done that willingly for you?_ Loki winced.

“Very well,” he said with a heavy sigh to show his supposed reluctance. “You may accompany me to the nearby town where... we will begin negotiations in earnest.” 

When Thomas threatened to invade his personal space in order to ( _no doubt_ ) embrace him ( _the horror!_ ) out of sheer joy and “uncontrollable enthusiasm”, Loki raised a hand – a finger – in warning. 

“Do not blame me if harm comes to you in this place – I am not your nanny nor your keeper, Thomas. Therefore, do no expect me to transport you everywhere either -”  
“Yes, Loki,” Thomas nodded. “I'll be careful.”  
“Hmph.”  
“You won't regret it! I promise.”  
“I am regretting it already.”

With that, the entire cavalcade departed.

-0-0-0-

In a day's time, when the cool sun of Jotunheim began to set, the group of diplomats finally arrived at the small ity on the far side of the great ice desert (pronounced something unutterable, Tom thought) which Loki had been camping on the edge of. It was a deceptively wide ice field containing more than one lake and a few surprise chasms. By the time Tom arrived in the city, he was rather tired (from the walking), numb (from the cold), sore (from a few too many falls) and damp (from melted snow settling in his now rather worn tuxedo). Yet, the tall actor did not dare complain in case Loki put his foot down and sent him back home.

_The last thing he needs_ , Tom thought, watching Loki trudge in tense silence beside him up giant stairs to an equally gigantic door, _is a weight and he needs all the help he can get_. The normally cheerful actor sighed and shook his head. _He's supposed to be the Silvertongue of Asgard – the ultimate master of words and manipulator... but I think he's gotten rusty... Perhaps he's been in that cell a bit too long... or maybe he just doesn't care and is making no effort... or maybe the unease and fear and hate are all the instincts he has got left._ Tom set his chin in determination and kept close on Loki's heels as they were led deeper and deeper into what looked like a fortress and less like an inn. _In any case, he'll need me to help him smooth troubled waters... until he finds his feet. Not that he'd admit to that._

The room the two were eventually ushered into was pitch dark and forbidding to say the least – but within minutes (which seemed to last longer than Earth minutes), wood was brought and Loki, using a little magic, lit several torches and a grand fire in a fireplace on one end of the room. Thick furs were brought in and laid down before it – and Tom found himself quite toasty, snuggled in a grand fur pelt before a healthy blaze. 

Sometime later, just as he was about to doze off, several slabs of cold meat were brought and the two adventurers set to work roasting the unknown venison-like meat over the fire with the canisters slowly heating tea over the less intense embers.

“Not a bad meal, really,” Tom found himself saying around a particularly large hunk of sort-of-venison. “Meat. Tea. Biscuits... What else could a man want?”  
“Hm,” said Loki, noncommittally.

Tom frowned. Loki was too quiet by half. 

“Although... it's probably better we don't know what we're eating...” Pause. “And pudding would be nice. Like cake. Or cheesecake. Or shortcake. Or -”  
“Thomas.”  
“Yes?”  
“Pause. Then a sigh: “Never mind.”

Silence. More of it. The fire crackled. Somewhere an unknown beast roared into the night and from far away, they could hear the hustle and bustle of the city.

“Are you going to tell them?” asked Tom quietly.  
“Tell them what?” Loki asked wearily.  
“About you being a Jotunn as well – and being Laufey's son and slaying him and all.”  
“THOMAS!” Loki hissed in fury – and then both fell silent as the Jotunn servants returned, entering with more wood and taking away the scraps of food left over. When the door shut, Tom's backpack hit the back of the actor's head sharply.  
“Ow! What the hell was -”  
“That is for failing to you keep your mouth -”  
“How was I to know it was still a secret?”  
“Do you honestly think I would go about trumpeting the true depth of my debasement – the disgusting truth of my... my true nature -”  
“Now, Loki -”  
“Tell Asgard that a cuckoo crept into its royal nest and has tainted the integrity of the House of Odin -”  
“Loki, listen! I am -” Tom could almost feel Loki's unbreakable grip around his throat as he had experienced the hard way the firs t time he had arrived.  
“That the Prince they long mistrusted and disrespected – the Prince upon whom they spat on the day of Judgement – that Prince whom they believe will then deserve everything they have inflicted on him and more?”

-0-0-0-

Loki's pale flace was flushed now – the veins below his paper white skin throbbed with passion. Glittering, venomous green eyes met startlingly blue, watery-eyed ones. The mortal was looking seriously upset – and almost immediately, Loki knew that somehow Thomas was upset at himself. All angry drained away at the realization, and his tirade came to a halt suddenly. 

For a moment, there was nothing said – nothing to say, as Thomas looked away, stiff and silent. Although he was glad that the mortal was not offering empty words of reassurance or infringing on his personal space, the ex-God of Mischief regretted how easily he could hurt the one who had so courageously stood up for him. The idiot who kept on believing no matter what. 

Silence – even more heavy now that Loki's voice had faded away. He could almost imagine the shrill sound of his bitter words echoing around the room like angry ghosts. Loki wondered how far his ranting had carried down the empty halls – what ears had heard those bitter self-recriminations.

_In the end_ , he thought dazedly, as his legs gave way and Loki found himself huddled on his bed of fur, _in the end, I seal my own dark fate_.  
  


-0-0-0-

“Loki,” whispered Tom. “I'm so so sorry. I just... I just think that it'd be better if you came clean now – while you can, then later, you know? Relationships – healthy relationships need to grow on trust – they can't survive in an environment of lies.”  
“That is my nature -”  
“No, it is not,” Tom disagreed firmly, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “It's a choice. You choose, Loki.”

Loki rubbed his face, tiredly.

“Well, if anyone was in the hall, they'd have heard it by now.”  
“True,” Tom laughed ruefully. “You have a set of lungs on you. Perfect for the stage, I think.”  
“Like you.”

Awkward pause.

“Well, yes,” Tom finally said thoughtfully, remembering his role as Oakley. Loki in the Vault with Odin. Screaming and crying. “I suppose.”  
“Although, I find it hard to imagine you flying out of control.”  
“I have. A few times. Before... and... I always tell myself to work on thinking things through and trying to see the other's side....” Tom's fingers ran absently through the brown-black and silver fur pelt, heedless of Loki's disbelieving gaze.  
“It's hard to to do... sometimes... but you have to keep trying,” the actor went on, then scrubbed his nose before shrugging. “That's growing up, I guess.”  
“Hm.”  
“If they did find out, if they do find out...” Tom asked tentatively. “What would happen? Worst case scenario?”  
“I would die. And maybe so would you.”  
“OK.”  
“You seem to be taking imminent death calmly for a mortal.”  
“We're short-lived anyways,” Tom shrugged. “And I won't be dying with any regrets."  
“You mean that,” Loki said after a moment, eyeing the blonde man.  
“Well, more or less, yes,” Tom laughed then, lightly, “And we aren't going to die.”  
“We aren't,” Loki echoed, amused now. “And why not, oh sagacious one?”  
“We've got you,” was the cheerful reply. “I am sure you'd be able to get us out in a jiffy.”  
“Indeed,” was Loki's dry response. “Such faith in my skills.”

But he was pleased.  
  


-0-0-0-

The next morning, when the two were ushered into the great Hall, it was to discover that somehow, overnight all the great Lords had arrived in order to see the new ambassador of Asgard. In the opening words of the Eldest Elder, there was an additional greeting to ambassador who was also named as the Jotunn delegate from Asgard. Under polite pressure (and enthusiastic encouragement from Thomas), Loki perforce had to reveal his true nature to the Jotunn High Court. As the blue crept over his skin and his eyes turned the striking colour of blood, gasps rang out among the courtiers.

For a moment, there was a stunned silence.

When Loki raised red eyes to meet the Lords before him, he was astounded to see great tears of ice diamonds form on their faces – and a great sound of guttural jubilation was unleashed throughout the hall. Just as he was about to protest, Thomas was nodding and bowing and saying something to the effect of 'we accept' (as if it was his place to speak for the Prince of Asgard!). With that, servants burst in with long tables. A grand feast was placed before the two men – and Loki was placed in the seat of highest honour, with Thomas at his right side. It went on and on and on – with varying promises made to the effect that peace with Asgard was assured. 

Any lingering uncertainty on Loki's part was dispelled when a toast was raised to the new King of Jotunheim, naming his as the rightful Heir to the Throne as the victor of the Blood Duel (which Loki made a mental note to learn about more in detail later). After the toast, a thin circlet of ice as formed within the broad hands of the Eldest Elder and placed upon Loki's blue brow. Stunned, Loki turned to the one who had stood at his side through it all – the good and the bad – Thomas Hiddleston of the odd Midgard. Thomas who raised his cup with a wide insufferable grin. 

“I knew you could do it,” he said smugly. “All along.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! How do you like how it's going so far? Don't worry about the ending of this chapter - this story isn't done yet!


	11. The Unfolding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how things are going to transpire for Loki is unfolded... and Tom finds himself having a usual meandering conversation with Loki. Not much happens... sadly...

The Mortal, the Jotunn and the Wardrobe

 Chapter 11  
The Revelation

Thomas was a quiet sleeper, Loki had discovered the first night they had shared the room given to them in the citadel. However, on the second night, Loki wished the man had at least the flaw of snoring while he slept. For, as the night deepened and rest failed to weigh his eyelids, the silence fell as a heavy cloak over Jotunheim, stifling the God of Mischief. In contrast, the few living things, the few animated things, which remained in the desolate world were thrown into stark relief. If he stilled his breathing and listened hard, Loki could hear the pop and crackle of the small fire now smouldering on the hearth across the large room, the light huff of Thomas's breath and the faraway creak of wood and and ice upon stone.

_It is unnerving..._ Loki finally had to admit to himself, sitting up in the bundle of thick fur offered him. Groaning softly, Loki slumped forward and muttered to himself, “This is not working...”

Quiet and carefully, the second Prince of Asgard turned traitor turned unwilling diplomat turned would-be King of Jotunheim rose and made his way out and down the hall. Eventually, he reached some sort of grand hall he had as yet to have seen and realized that he was lost. Lost in his own citadel in the middle of the night. 

_By the Norns..._ Loki, stumbling through a creaking shutter-door, found himself on a wide balcony overlooking a vast unfamiliar vista: Jotunheim. It was the same scape which had stretched before him over the past three weeks of his sojourn – but a view from the opposite side. Same iced over lake, same range of mountains curving around and then flattening into a plateau and steep cliffs along which (above and below) grew the large janvithr – ironwood – forest. The same ironwood forest out of which Thomas had appeared... Golden Thomas who looked so out of place in the monochrome world – in Jotunheim. 

_My home – supposedly – and yet – so unfamiliar. Unfamiliar territory. Unfamiliar territory in which I am so lost_ , Loki sighed gustily. Hefting himself up onto a crate, Loki found that he could now stand against the iced-over stone wall of the balcony and rest his elbows as would any other ordinary-sized Jotunn. _So lost and out of my element. By Helheim, it is as if my life is a game played by the whims of the Norns._

“There is much on your mind, young one,” a deep throaty voice said – and then a cool hand descended on Loki's shoulder to steady him as the short Jotun spun around, nearly slipping on a patch of ice which had grown along the edges of the crate. “I apologize.”  
“No, no,” Loki said and then eased a little back – but found that there was only so much of the crate until he would be falling of the edge. He looked up and was found himself rather disheartened by how tall Elder Skellir was despite the fact that Loki was standing on a crater. 

It was rather depressing.

“I was just thinking,” Loki grimaced and then turned back to look at the scene before him. “I could not sleep,” he added.  
“Your bed is not comfortable-”  
“No, my bed was fine. I just... this whole coronation was rather sudden-”  
“Well, it wasn't really a coronation,” Skellir smiled in what was supposed to be a comforting way but left Loki feeling a little unsettled. “Elder Kova felt that it was expedient to tie your loyalties to Jotunheim as quick as may be – and also send a swift message to the other Realms that we are no longer leaderless.”  
“Ahhh...” Loki nodded, suddenly enlightened. “It was a short-term remedy – to lift the morale of your people-”  
“Our people.”  
“My people now, I suppose.”  
“Yes.”  
“To lift the morale of the... the Jotunn and to broadcast the appearance of strength to other Realms, including Asgard.”  
“Furthermore, your mission of peace will have been achieved. In this way, two wolves are slain with one blow.”  
“Right.”

A pause.

“So the coronation was not official then?” Loki asked carefully.  
“No. The full Traditional Rites will be achieved over the following month and then be finalized at the next full moons, upon which we will place the High Crown within the capital city wherein sits the empty throne of the King.”  
“I see.” Loki nodded and watched the snow melt on his pale fingers – slowly. “So then, I could return to Asgard and not have to take-”  
“You could,” Skellir sighed. “We hope not. For our sake.”  
“I did not think Jotunheim was so desperate as to accept the... slayer of their King.”  
“Hmmm... you speak of what you do not know... for it has been a Tradition since ancient times for Father and Son to battle for the Throne. During recent millenia, during more cultured times, the duels were more symbolic – but whether death results or no, the Son, upon winning, gains the title of King.”  
“How... fortunate for me.”  
“Indeed.”

For a moment the two stood in silence and then Skellir's voice broke through Loki's scattered thoughts:

“You think us barbaric.”  
“No,” Loki said quickly – and then paused as he realized that he truly meant it. “No. I am surprised – but I was thinking no such thing.”  
“Many would, you know.”  
“Yes, I know. I grew up in Asgard, after all.”  
“That will be a source of strength for us as well – to have a leader who knows the mind of Asgard – and who has links to Midgard as well.”  
“Wellll...” Loki winced at the thought of Thomas. “I wouldn't say that exactly. It is as a – a – a tenuous bond at best.”  
“Yet, he spoke for you – and with such warmth as would melt snow.”  
“Hm. Well, that is how Thomas is, I suppose.”  
“Whatever role he plays, we appreciate his enthusiasm. It encourages the young ones to hope that some day we might be able to make peace with the mortals.”  
“Thomas would make a good ambassador,” Loki agreed. “However, I am to understand that on his Realm he has a great following and must keep busy with his personal business... I do not think he has the time – I do not know if the length of his lifespan will be long enough to see the creation of ties between Midgard and Jotunheim...” 

Loki tried to imagine returning to a Midgard without Thomas – the one on which the Avengers lived and thrived (if the rumours were true) and continued to wage war against evil or the one which worshipped his image and extended compassion thanks to the words of a simple actor. _But Thomas is not simple_ , Loki thought, _and to return to his Midgard without him there to receive me would feel... so empty..._

This was getting too complicated. He needed to sleep.

“Perhaps it is time to return to our respective beds,” Skellir finally chuckled, noting how Loki's head resting on his forearms seemed just a tad bit too comfortable. “With sleep, our mind can rest and perhaps when the suns rise, such problems which seem large at night may reveal themselves to be less than what they appeared.”  
“That is true.”

Loki slid off his crate easily and then paused at the shutter door uncertainly, wincing as he turned to look at Skellir who looked back at him with something like a toothy grin.

“Perhaps I best accompany you for safety sake,” Skellir said solemnly.  
“Yes,” Loki nodded stiffly, cheeks a bit pink. “Rather.”

When he slipped inside his bedroom, Thomas was still asleep. Standing over the tall, thin man now curled up under a pack of furs, Loki contemplated the unruly curls which poked out and the barest glimpse of a reddened forehead and familiar slack face. _Odd watching yourself sleep_ , Loki frowned. _A study in narcissism, I should imagine. That is what he would say. Then he would laugh. He can always laugh... That is his gift, I suppose._

Thomas slept, Loki watched him a moment more and then frowned suddenly battling an urge to kick the mortal. _How can he sleep so easily in a hostile land such as this?_ Loki felt more annoyed than usual, exhaled a large huff and stomped off to his own corner (which he had with great ceremony set up the night before in front of an amused Thomas). Now his actions seemed childish and after eyeing his own messed mound of furs, Loki, as quietly as he could, shifted his bedding closer to the mortal. The room remained bared and too large - but not longer depressingly empty. Not with Thomas's soft breathing at his side.

Then, and only then, did he fall asleep. 

-0-0-0-

When Tom woke the next morning, he discovered that not only had Loki shifted his bed over to his side of the room but had moved it to a location more specifically beside him. If it had been one of the fellows from back home, Tom would have cracked a joke. If it had been Chris, Tom would have kicked him playfully. If it had been anyone but Loki, Tom would have said something. As it was, Tom liked his limbs and body intact and his brain undamaged (so far), so the actor made no comment. 

However, Thomas found himself humming several songs while doling out a breakfast of fish and bitter broth. He knew that Loki's scowls sent his way during breakfast were the unspoken way the god could combat Tom's sudden (and no doubt obnoxious) amount of (“insufferable”) optimism.   
  


-0-0-0-

Five days later when the hunters returned with some news about some cloud shift and weather change and another Elder made a pronouncement concerning preparations being completed and roads being now passable, Loki knew that he would have to continue inward into Jotunheim. That night, he sat on the balcony with Thomas (bundled up and surrounded by a spare fur) and contemplated the clear star-scape before them and the endless expanse of white and grey and the variety of blues. 

“It is time,” Loki said.  
“Yes,” Thomas sighed. “I guess I have to go home.”  
“Well, this is new. Thomas Hiddleston volunteering to return home? Of his own volition? Perhaps disenchantment has set in,” Loki smirked.  
“Not really,” Thomas laughed then. “I just need a new change of clothes – I am afraid that my suit is now bound for the bin and within a few days, I would look like the raggedy man.”  
“Raggedy man?”  
“It is – never mind-”  
“I told you that those clothes were not suitable for hunting. You could have said-”  
“How could I pass it up? What if I do not return? What if this is the only chance-”  
“What do you mean you will not return?” Loki asked, trying to keep alarm from showing on his face at the thought.  
“Well, I mean... I guess my reasons for being here is over.”  
“They are?”  
“Well... I guess? Maybe not...”  
“How can you not know your reasons for being here?” Loki asked, now annoyed with the human and himself. This conversation was not getting better with time.  
“Oh dear,” Thomas rubbed his head nervously. “I'm – um – yeah -” A pause. “Damn it. I don't know. I thought that I was just supposed to help you settle in.”  
“If you do not wish to return – or if you think your time here is done,” Loki said icily, “ then I would suggest you stay at home next time you think your wardrobe has opened a door to another Realm. Unless it opens to Alfheim or Vanaheim. Those are worthy places to enjoy – and are wonderful most times of the year.”  
“I am sorry,” Thomas paused and froze obviously remembering that Loki was annoyed by his apologies. “I mean... So did not mean to say that.”

Loki sighed. Thomas began again, this time more slowly.

“I did not mean to sound as though I did not wish to return. Of course I want to return. I just... don't want to be a bother. I'm absolute rubbish at politicking, you know – when it comes to alien politics. Seeing as the only places I've, well, visited in fact is Jotunheim and in fiction... Asgard, Jotunheim and a part of Svartalfheim...” A pause and Thomas rubbed his face and then, tenting his fingers over his mouth, stopped and his blue eyes grew distant as the cogs of the mortal's quick mind whirred. (Loki could swear he could hear Thomas thinking sometimes.) “Listen, Loki, it is just that – the closest I've come to being a King and well, Royalty, was back in boarding school when the Prince of England was also there... in my year, you know. We're of an age. And we met again for “War Horse”, which is a movie about a horse, you know. In the war.” A pause. “And afterwards, there was this whole role I took as a King of England – Henry the Fifth. You wouldn't know him, I guess. Maybe you did, but, um, you know, I don't know if I can help you – since I have no REAL experience with this... this whole thing you are going through.” Thomas trailed off uncertainly, huddling in his furs and gazing at Loki with a sad look.  
“I don't know which is more laughable,” Loki finally said, “the fact that you think I want you about to help me or the fact that you think you actually helped.”

Thomas looked, if possible, even more wounded and bit his lip hard before looking down and concentrating on something within his furs. Loki had a sudden image of a very exhausting but lovable pup which his brother had once raised as a young child – and how it looked when one of the Palace guards had accidentally kicked it in an effort to get to some incident a floor down. 

_How did I end up as the villain in this piece yet again?_ Loki thought sourly. _What was I thinking anyways? It is not as if you truly wish him to leave for true, Loki. This is just wonderful, Loki. Yes, go ahead and drive away the one person who believed in you when no one else, least of all yourself, did._   
  


-0-0-0-

“I did not intend it to sound that way,” Loki finally said, tiredly. “It is not... entirely true.”  
“Oh, yes, well,” Tom's voice cut through Loki's heavy thoughts. “I brought you food and stuff – and I know if I didn't bring it, you'd be miserable.”  
“True enough, I suppose.”  
“And you know, I'm not trying to be... a goody two shoes here, God forbid,” Tom went on and then added quickly, realizing that Loki might not know what a 'goody two shoes' might be (and would be annoyed at being forced to admit as much), “Goodness knows I've got a ton of things that I get up to if I don't have people around me to talk sense into me. There was a time when I was, well, really struggling. The acting school was just throwing stuff at me left and right and I was starting to think that things were just not going to work for me. I was seriously losing my mojo... and my mom really helped... and other people really spoke into my life... and later on when I did get over my funk and started to look forward to the end of school – and there were these people who were getting famous and there I was just plugging away at these jobs which weren't... well... I had to have an attitude adjustment and I had to realize that I had to treat every small thing like it was the big thing and there was my family and friends who kept saying that they believed in me when I wasn't sure if anyone would want to hear what I had to say-”  
“Thomas,” Loki said quietly.  
“Um, yes?”  
“Will you get to the point?”  
“Well, I meant to say that I don't want to be a burden to you – but if small things like bringing pizza or pasta or soup or just talking helps – I'll be willing to come back.”  
“Do I have a choice?”  
“I'd like to think you had a choice,” Tom said reluctantly, but then added with an impish smile, “but sometimes we don't want to admit we need something when we need it the most. Like going to the dentist.”  
“What is a dentist?”  
“It is a place that – well, like a doctor for your teeth – and it can get rather painful.”  
“I see. So you are saying that you are like a doctor for teeth and thus may be rather painful to experience?” Loki nodded slowly, “I can see the correlation.”  
“Ouch,” Tom grimaced. “Now, that is unkind.”  
“You made the inference, not I.”  
“Hm.”  
“If you return, you will be welcome. I will have a room set up for your disposal,” Loki said.  
“Close to your room?”  
“Is that important?”  
“Well, maybe,” Tom shrugged. “It's not like we are girls having sleep-overs and stuff – but it's nice to be able to talk in an informal setting and not have to shout at each other over the noise of a thousand Jotunn eating and talking.”  
“Yes, they do make quite a bit of noise,” Loki agreed, “I used to think my – the Grand Feasting Hall was bad in Asgard. Apparently not.”

A pause. 

“What will you do on your return home?”  
“Um, well,” Tom scratched his chin and considered what lay before him. Coriolanus. Richard Capa. Another Thor movie probably in the future at some point. Another indie film. Was The Muppet movie in post-production now? “Making more movies, I suppose. I've got some projects coming up. Coriolanus. That's a story you'd like – although Henry the Fifth is more happy, in a way. Richard Capa. A few other things in the works. We'll have to see...”  
“You will have to return soon and tell me these stories,” Loki rose and made his way back into their shared room, to find his bedding. 

Tom trailing behind wondered if Loki would really miss him. _Maybe he will._ As he fell asleep, suddenly, awkwardly aware that green eyes were watching him a little too closely for his liking, Tom thought, _maybe more than I'll ever understand and more than he'll admit._ His lips quirked upward in a smile at the thought. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.   
  


-0-0-0-

Loki cursed to himself quietly at the maudlin look on Thomas's face. _Foolish mortal._ He cursed Thomas - and then himself. _Equally foolish god._

The next morning, early when the suns had just risen over the mountains, Loki transported Thomas to the trees with a simple teleportation working – and there in the quiet, they bid each other farewell. Thomas made promises which Loki attempted to dismiss, and yet treasured. Watching the now rather wrinkled back of the suit disappear into the dark, Loki found himself fighting the urge to join the mortal and see what this 'premiere' was exactly – see what the stories said of his works on Svartalfheim. However, his duties called and with an increasing amount of regret, Loki watched as Thomas disappeared from sight. 

_He will return_ , Loki, the dark-haired Jotun told himself. _He will return._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. We'll see~
> 
> Up next is Tom returns to the premiere and the coronation of a new King and meeting Thor and other interesting things. I hope!  
> Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> I am already writing 2 fics... Why am I starting a third? Well, in my defense - this is only 15 chapters long and I've got at least half done already. So here goes!
> 
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
